


Charmed Confections

by Alisanne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Character death (offscreen not Harry or Draco), Community: hd_erised, Light Bondage, M/M, Mild Angst, Oral Sex, Unresolved Sexual Tension, flangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-08-31 13:05:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8579653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alisanne/pseuds/Alisanne
Summary: There’s a new bakery in town, and Harry is obsessed with the luscious lemon fairy cakes. And with discovering the identity of the mystery chef.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xErised](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xErised/gifts).



> A million thanks to my beta reader, Badgerlady, who stepped up at the last moment to do a lightning fast beta. I owe you BIG! Happy Erised! <3

Charmed Confections

* * *

“Enough,” Millie said, trying to move Draco’s hands away. “It looks fine.”

Draco, piping bag in his hand, glared at her. “It needs one more bit of icing right there and then it will be perfect.”

“You are such a damn perfectionist!” Heaving a sigh, Millie held up her hands and stood back. “Fine, you’re the chef, but you’ve been fussing with this one cake for at least an hour, and it’s not your only project today.”

“I’m aware,” Draco muttered, bending once more over the cake. Hands steady, he piped a swooping swirl on the side, connecting a row of cascading flowers to a fondant medallion. After repeating the same decoration a few more times, he stood back and nodded. “There. Now it’s ready.”

Millie shook her head. “I don’t know how you do it,” she said. “But you’re right, it’s better.” Wand raised, she levitated the cake into its waiting box.

“Of course it is.” Draco turned away, scanning the kitchen. “Circe and Morgana’s tits,” he swore. “We _are_ behind.”

“As I was trying to tell you!” Millie rolled her eyes. “How much more time do you need.”

Squaring his shoulders, Draco did a quick calculation in his head. “Twenty minutes. Fuck, what a day for Greg to be out sick.”

“It wasn’t planned!”

“Of course not, but still.” Draco shook his head.

“Well, it can’t be helped. Plus, you wouldn’t want him here sicking up every five minutes,” Millie said.

“There’s a charming image, thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome. Anyway, I’ll go to the venue now and stall for as long as I can.” Millie levitated the cake box and started for the door. “Let’s hope all the little details you’ve added to the engagement cake will distract them long enough so that by the time they realise the fairy cakes are missing, they’ll be there.”

“If I have to, I can send them through the Floo rather than Apparating,” Draco said, already busily decorating fairy cakes. “You’re sure you can put the main cake together?”

“Of course. I’ve seen you do it often enough. Although it would be better if you were there to showcase your work. This is your company, after all.”

“I’ll do my best,” Draco muttered. “Although you showcase our products just fine. I still think you should be the public face of the company.”

“I know you do. We’ll talk about that later. Right now we need to successfully complete this job.” Millie smirked. “And if necessary, I’ll have Pansy sing for them or something to distract them.”

“That would only put them off their food,” Draco murmured.

“I heard that!” called Pansy from the front counter.

“Then stop eavesdropping and come and help me with this cake,” Millie ordered.

A moment later, Pansy appeared through a door. “Who’s going to watch the counter, then?”

“Has anyone come in the past hour?” Draco asked, not looking up from his frantic decorating.

“No, but—”

“Just lock the door, flip the sign to ‘Closed’, and we’ll go,” said Millie. “It’s not as if most of our business comes from walk-ins anyway. We need to concentrate on the catering.”

Pansy sighed. “Fine.” She flicked her wand towards the door, and the distant sound of a latch being turned could be heard. She then turned towards Millie. “Are we Apparating?”

“Yes.” Standing still, Millie swished her wand, and the large cake box floated closer to her. Pansy levitated the other cake boxes until they were in a circle around her. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

When they and the boxes had disappeared with a pop, Draco sighed, stretched his neck, and redoubled his efforts. With a thousand fairy cakes to decorate, it would take him every bit of the twenty minutes he’d quoted to Millie to accomplish the task.

At twenty-one minutes the Floo flared to life. “Draco?” Millie called through. “Are you done?” 

“Almost!” he said, swirling the last bit of icing on a fairy cake. “I can start sending them through if you’re ready.”

“We’re ready.”

Exhaling, Draco flicked his wand, levitating a tray of fairy cakes into the air and sending it towards the Floo. As it went through, he finished up his last bit of decorating.

“We’re ready for the rest,” Millie called through.

“On their way,” Draco said, wiping his brow with his sleeve.

When they had all gone through, Millie leaned her head into the Floo. “Are you coming?” she asked.

Draco huffed. “I’m sure I look a sight. I don’t think so.”

Millie looked him up and down. “If you were anyone else I’d say you look fine, but for _you_ you’re a bit disheveled,” she finally said. “I suppose I can cover for you. Again.”

Turning away to avoid her all too perceptive gaze, Draco nodded. “I appreciate it, Millie. I trust you.”

“Draco—”

“I’ll just clean up here and secure the shop, all right?” Draco resolutely kept his eyes averted.

“All right.” Millie sounded resigned. “But I think this is a mistake, Draco. I think you should be proud of the work you’re doing, not hiding in the kitchen. No one will care that you’re the pastry chef for Charmed Confections.”

“I _am_ proud of it. But I also want the company to do well, and I don’t think it will if a Malfoy is the public face. It’s one thing to be the one baking, but to come out and remind people that I’m still around may not be the best idea—” Draco exhaled. “And this is not the time to have this conversation.”

“You’re right, it isn’t.” Millie sighed. “I’ll get the payment and have it sent to the company vault, yes?”

“Perfect,” Draco said. “Thank you.”

“We _will_ talk about this later, though.”

When the Floo connection closed, Draco rolled his eyes. “I look forward to it,” he muttered.

* * *

“My goodness, these cakes are delicious.” Hermione licked a bit of icing off her upper lip. “Don’t you agree, Ron?”

Ron, mouth full with his fifth fairy cake, nodded in agreement.

“They are,” agreed Harry. The icing was light, sweet but not too sweet, and flavoured subtly with vanilla and lavender. And the cake…The cake was moist, almost melting in his mouth. “Did your mum make these, Ron? They’re brilliant.”

“Nope.” Ron wiped his mouth. “She offered to cook, but Gabrielle wanted to have it catered.” He coughed. “Mum’s not happy about it, so I wouldn’t rave too much about how good it is.”

“It may be too late,” Hermione said. “I think she heard me.”

Harry glanced over at Molly Weasley. Her face was set, mouth in a thin line, and she was glaring at Hermione. “Yeah,” he said. “I think she may have.”

Hermione sighed. “Oh well. It’s not as if I’m her favourite daughter-in-law at the moment.”

“Oh?” Harry raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”

“I accepted that promotion at the Ministry.”

“Right,” Harry said. “Congratulations again on that. But that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“She doesn’t think so.” Hermione huffed. “Apparently I’m a bad mother since I want to continue to work while I have two little ones at home. She thought once Hugo came that I would give up working and stay home to concentrate on him and Rose.”

“But isn’t Ron going to do that?”

“That’s the plan,” said Ron. “But Mum’s a bit of a traditionalist when it comes to raising families. We’ve tried to explain that since I’m only working part time with George anyway, it makes the most sense for me to stay home with the kids while Hermione continues to work, advance her career, but she’s not buying it.”

There was nothing to say to that, to Harry simply tried to look sympathetic.

“Anyway, enough about that,” said Hermione. “Since we’ve made our decision about our family, I don’t care what she thinks.” Snagging another fairy cake from a floating tray, she bit into it and sighed. “I really need to find out where these cakes come from. They are fantastic.”

“Hey, it looks like it’s finally time for the big announcement,” Ron said, nodding towards the gazebo.

Looking over, Harry saw Gabrielle and her parents, as well as her soon to be fiancé and his parents, gathered.

Gabrielle’s father stepped forward and, casting a Sonorous, said in heavily accented English, “Thank you all for coming today. Eet ees with great pleasure zat my wife and I announce zee engagement of our daughter Gabrielle to Monsieur William Abbott.

“Although, I must say, we do find it curious zat both our daughters ’ave chosen to marry men named William! Alzough at least vee vill not ’ave to learn a new name.”

Everyone laughed. 

After a moment, Mr Delacour continued. “Please join us in raising a glass to celebrate zee union of our families and to wish zem future ’appiness.”

“That was lovely,” Hermione said as everyone drank and clapped their champagne. “It almost makes me wish we’d had a formal engagement party.”

Sliding an arm around her waist, Ron leaned in. “We still could, if you want.”

Hermione scoffed. “Don’t be silly. We’ve been married for years.”

“So?” Ron grinned. “I’m always good with any excuse for a party. We could invite our friends over and announce that we’re getting remarried or something.”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open. “Ron Weasley. Are you asking me to marry you again?”

“Yep.” Ron grinned. “I read about it in one of Dad’s Muggle mags. Muggles do it all the time. It’s called a recommitment ceremony— Oomph!”

Harry watched fondly as Hermione threw her arms around Ron, snogging him fiercely. Tamping down his instinctive envy, he smiled. They were so happy together it was sometimes difficult to be around them, although of course he didn’t begrudge them one bit. Even if his love life was nonexistent.

Looking away, Harry sipped champagne. Everywhere he saw couples. George and Angelina, Neville and Hannah, Ginny and Dean, Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode— Harry blinked. Wait, what were they doing here?

Focussing, Harry watched them placing pastries on trays before sending them off to float past people, and cutting up cake for serving. It seemed they were the caterers. “Huh.”

“What?” Hermione was back, although her fingers were laced tightly with Ron’s and her face was flushed.

Harry nodded towards Bulstrode and Parkinson. “Look who’s handling the pastries.”

“Oh! Yes, I’d heard they were in catering,” Hermione said after following the direction of Harry’s gaze. “Luna told me. I guess we know who’s responsible for these cakes now.”

“I’ve been eating cake Pansy Parkinson could have made?” Ron made a face, eyeing with suspicion the half-eaten fairy cake he was still holding with his free hand. “Merlin, what if it’s poisoned?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “That’s unlikely.”

Ron sniffed the fairy cake. “Smells okay.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “It’s my understanding that someone else is the pastry chef.” She frowned. “No idea who, though. No one ever sees them.”

“That makes me feel better,” muttered Ron dryly. “Mystery baker. Could be some murderous Death Eater for all we know.”

Hermione shook her head. “Honestly, almost all the murderous Death Eaters are in Azkaban. What are the chances? Anyway, the company’s called Charmed Confections, and it has a good reputation.”

“The baker’s got to be a Slytherin, though, right?” Ron said. “I mean, who else would work with those two? Slytherin bakery. Slytherins preparing our food! Bloody hell.”

Slytherins. Harry tuned out Ron and Hermione as he pondered the implications of that. If Slytherins were involved, could Malfoy be far behind? No one had seen him in years, he’d all but disappeared after the Death Eater trials. Was this what he was doing? And would Harry finally get to talk to him and apologise?

“…been years, Ron.” Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you think it’s a bit much to still hold school grudges twelve years after the war?”

“Would _you_ work with them?” Ron asked, polishing off the rest of his cake.

“Fortunately, I don’t have to make that decision,” Hermione said, tone prim.

“See?” Ron grinned. “You wouldn’t.” He took another fairy cake from a tray, popping it in his mouth.

“I thought you were going to stop eating those,” Harry said, laughing. “You know, since they could be poisoned.”

Ron shrugged. “I’m still hungry. If I die, though, I want you to avenge me.”

Hermione huffed. “Honestly, you’re being ridiculous. They are not poisoned—”

As Ron and Hermione bickered back and forth good-naturedly, Harry again focussed on Bulstrode and Parkinson. One of them could be the chef, although something told him no. So who was it? Taking another fairy cake from a tray, Harry bit into it. It really was exceptional. Licking icing off his fingers, Harry said, “You said Charmed Confections is the name?”

“Yes. They have a shop in Diagon.” Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Why?” 

Harry smiled. “No reason. No reason at all.”

* * *

When Draco woke, he was aching from head to toe. “Ugh,” he moaned. Doing an in-depth cleaning of the pastry kitchen had been necessary, but after a full day of baking, it’d taken everything he’d had. He’d collapsed immediately upon getting back to his flat and hadn’t even got up to eat anything. A fact his stomach was reminding him about vociferously.

Groaning, Draco rolled over onto his back, reaching blindly for his wand with the vague idea of Summoning something for breakfast. Surely he had food somewhere in the place?

“ _Accio_ food,” he muttered, pointing his wand at the ceiling and barely raising his head from the pillow. When nothing happened, he sighed. Of course the larder was bare. He’d paid everyone the night before, and there hadn’t been much left for personal groceries.

“Fuck,” he grumbled. Steeling himself, he tossed back the covers and, shivering in the cool air, got out of bed and dashed for the bathroom.

After a hot shower, Draco inspected himself in the mirror. “There,” he said, leaning forward and checking that his eyes weren’t too bloodshot. “Now I look human.” His stomach grumbled and he pressed a hand to it. “Food,” he said, turning away. “Food, now.”

Striding into the kitchen, Draco stopping short when he found someone sitting at the table. His wand was halfway pointed, a hex trembling on his lips, before he identified the intruder. “Millie? What the hell—?”

Millie, sitting calmly at his kitchen table, smiled at him. “Before you hex me into oblivion for visiting this early, I made us tea. And I come bearing gifts.” She held up a bag.

Draco tucked his wand away. Inhaling, he scented almonds. “Salazar,” he breathed. “Is that an almond croissant from La Parisienne Patisserie?”

“Yes it is.” Millie smiled. “And it’s yours. Provided you talk to me.”

“Talk? I’d shag you for one of those,” Draco said, taking the bag and sliding into a chair. “Have I mentioned how much I adore you?” he moaned after a moment, closing his eyes as the flaky pastry melted on his tongue.

“It would mean more if I didn’t know just how much you love cock.”

“Alas, for someone who loves cock, I get surprisingly little of it,” Draco lamented.

Millie poured him a cuppa, putting a dollop of milk in before passing it to him. “You need to find yourself a boyfriend.” She hummed. “It’s certainly made my life better.”

Draco snorted. “As if I have time? And speaking of, how’s Greg doing, by the way? Is he feeling better today?”

Millie’s face softened as it usually did when she talked about her boyfriend. “Yes. He was up and about this morning, and is no longer barfing. He said to tell you he feels awful about calling in yesterday.”

Draco shrugged. “It’s fine, it happens.” Taking another bite, he chewed and swallowed before thoughtfully looking down at the pastry. He sighed. “Why can’t I master this dough? Mine’s never this flaky.”

“No idea.” Millie sat back in her chair, sipping her tea. “I suspect you will one day. Now, are you awake enough now to talk about the business?”

Polishing off the last of the croissant, Draco drank some tea. “If we must,” he muttered.

“Yes, we must.” Millie set her cup down and crossed her arms. “Draco, are you ashamed of working with us, with me?”

Draco stared at her, his mouth dropping open. “What? No. Never. You’re the only reason this whole thing is even working. I couldn’t have done this without you! You had the foresight to be neutral during the war. I, on the other hand—”

“Were seventeen and in a terrible position.” Millie scowled. “No one makes good decisions at that age, Draco.”

Draco looked away. “Potter did. He saved the world. I was just trying to save myself.”

“And your family.” Millie reached across the table, clasping Draco’s arm. “No one cares about that stuff anymore.”

Draco laughed bitterly. “If that were true, would any of us have had the trouble we had getting jobs over the years?”

“That was ages ago, when the war was still fresh in people’s minds.” Millie sighed. “I really think things have changed now. You need to come forward, be the public face of Charmed Confections. You should be proud of what you’re doing, Draco.”

“I’m barely able to pay you all now. Do you know what kind of a hit we could take if it comes out that I’m the owner of the company?” Draco snapped.

“Our business is picking up. And we have to expand if you’re going to not only pay us but yourself, too.” Millie sighed, her expression softening. “You can’t last long on tea and the occasional almond croissant.”

Draco shrugged, licking crumbs off his thumb. “I’m not starving yet.”

“You’d thrive if you’d come out as the owner.”

“And if I did that, how long would it take for someone to remember this tattoo on my arm and decide that since I escaped Azkaban, they’re going to take care of me themselves?”

Millie snorted. “You always were a dramatic twat. I’m telling you, no one cares. Pansy was persona non grata after the war, too, and look at her now. If she can do it, you can, too.” Releasing his arm, Millie stood. “The war’s long over and the world has moved on, Draco. Shouldn’t you do the same?”

Draco sighed but didn’t reply.

Millie shook her head. “See you tomorrow. Please think about what I said.”

After she had left, Draco stared into his teacup. Was she right? Had the time come to show himself again, rejoin the world? He groaned. It was all well and good if it worked, but if she was wrong, the results could be disastrous.

* * *

Taking a deep breath, Harry reached for the door, opening it.

Charmed Confections occupied a small storefront in an inconspicuous but still respectable corner of Diagon Alley. Before approaching, Harry had staked the place out for a while, not seeing much traffic inside. And the one customer who had entered had seemed reputable enough.

 _And I thought I’d never use the skills I learned in Auror training._ Biting back a chuckle, Harry walked inside, inhaling air redolent of vanilla and spices. While the decor was bare bones, behind a glass counter sat rows of cakes, pies, and biscuits, all of which looked delectable, and that was what mattered to Harry.

“Welcome to Charmed Confections. How may I help— Potter?!” Pansy Parkinson, standing behind the counter and wearing a yellow and white striped smock that matched the walls, looked gobsmacked. She quickly recovered, however, her expression smoothing over. “Excuse me. Hello, Potter. How may we help you today?”

“Parkinson.” Harry smiled. “Good to see you.”

The way Parkinson raised an eyebrow said she didn’t believe that statement for a moment. She opened her mouth, but closed it again as if thinking better of her reply.

Harry coughed. “Right. Anyway, so I was hoping to pick up some biscuits and maybe a couple of fairy cakes for some people. Any recommendations?”

Parkinson inclined her head. “To make a recommendation I’d need to know who your intended recipients are. Family, friends, work colleagues, perhaps? You’re an Auror, aren’t you?”

“Um, no, I’m not.” Harry shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and eyed the pastries on display. “These are to take to a friend’s house later. I need something children will like. Any ideas?”

“How old are these children?” Parkinson asked, her manner professional.

“Four and three.”

“Then may I suggest our sugar and spice biscuits?” Parkinson pointed to some amber-coloured biscuits. “They’re made out of honey and cinnamon and children tend to love them. As well as the chocolate ones, of course.”

“Sounds good.” Harry leaned down to inspect the biscuits. “I’ll take two of each.”

“Anything else?” Parkinson asked, reaching for a box.

Harry pursed his lips. Rose and Hugo would each eat a biscuit, two if they were hungry, but there was also Ron to consider. “Make that six of each,” he said. “And is there anything else you especially recommend?”

Parkinson gestured towards the display cases. “Everything you see here is freshly made and very good,” she said. “If you want something customised, however, it will take a little longer for our pastry chef to prepare.” She hesitated, then continued, “The strawberry fairy cakes are quite good today, as are our signature luscious lemon.”

“Great. I’ll take four of each of them as well, then.” Harry watched her as she got the items. As the silence got uncomfortable, he blurted. “So, um, who is the pastry chef, anyway?”

Parkinson, busy with levitating biscuits and fairy cakes into boxes, didn’t even look up, although her lips tightened. “I don’t believe you actually know them. Will there be anything else?”

Harry coughed. “I was just thinking that I could give them my compliments, you know? I was at Gabrielle Delacour’s engagement party the other day, and the pastries were delicious. You guys catered that, right?”

“We did.” Parkinson placed the last fairy cake into the box and closed it. “I’ll be happy to pass along your…comments,” she said, tying a string around it. “Now, is there anything else you’d like or will this be all?”

Clearly he wasn’t getting anything more out of her. Harry reached into his pocket for Galleons. “That will be it, thanks,” he said.

Parkinson took the money, returning his change. As she picked up his box of pastries, she hesitated, then squared her shoulders. “Potter, I never had a chance to apologise for my actions during the Battle of Hogwarts. All I can say is that I was young, and frightened, and I’m sorry I tried to turn you over to Vol—”

“It’s fine, Parkinson,” Harry interrupted, smiling as gamely as he could. “That was a rough time for all of us. Not many of us had a choice about the things we did back then. Don’t worry about it.”

Parkinson blinked as if surprised, then cleared her throat. “That’s decent of you, Potter.” Dropping her eyes, she murmured, “Here are your pastries.”

Accepting his box, Harry nodded at Parkinson before turning and starting for the door.

“Thank you for your patronage,” Parkinson said behind him. “We appreciate the business.”

Once outside, Harry tucked the box under his arm and started out for the Apparation point. He was obviously going to have to do some investigating to get any answers about who ran Charmed Confections. And if it was Malfoy— He smiled. Finally! It felt good having a project.

* * *

Draco was just putting away ingredients and cleaning up for the day when Pansy burst into the kitchen.

“Salazar on a swing, you’ll never guess who just came into the shop!” she crowed.

“The Minister for Magic?” Draco drawled, not looking up.

“A member of the Wizengamot,” guessed Greg, who was washing out the bowls and utensils.

“Oh please.” Pansy sniffed. “As if I’d care if any of them deigned to visit? No. It was Saint Potter himself!”

Draco’s hand jerked, and he cursed as he spilled flour onto the counter. “Circe’s tits!” he swore. “Damnit, Pansy.”

“I knew that would get a reaction,” Pansy said, sounding smug. “You never have got over that crush you used to have on Potter, have you?”

After shooting her a glare, Draco set the flour container down and drew his wand to clean up the mess. “What did he want?” he asked, not even bothering to deny her statement. He stiffened as something occurred to him. “Was he here investigating us? Last I heard he was an Auror or something.”

“No, he’s not an Auror, and he was definitely here as a customer.” Pansy began counting on her fingers. “He bought twelve biscuits and eight fairy cakes. Apparently he was at the Delacour engagement party and especially enjoyed your fairy cakes, Draco. In fact, he was very inquisitive about who our pastry chef is. Almost…insistent.”

Draco stared at her. “You didn't tell him it was me, did you?”

Pansy snorted. “Of course not! I’m not an idiot. I told him it wasn’t anyone he knew.”

“So you lied,” Greg said.

“No I didn’t.” Pansy huffed. “Potter never knew Draco. Not really.”

“That’s splitting hairs a bit, don’t you think?” Draco shook his head. “When he finds out, he may not agree.”

“Then we make sure he never finds out.” Pansy leaned her hip against the work table. “Relax, Draco. We’ll protect you. And if it comes to it, we’ll say Greg’s the pastry chef.”

Draco eyed her for a moment. “So you don’t agree with Millie, then?”

“About?”

“About me coming out in public as being involved in the shop.”

Pansy shrugged. “I think you can if you want,” she said. “But I also understand why it makes you uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable?” Draco laughed mirthlessly. “That’s one word for it. Do you know the last time I wore my own face in pubic, someone spat on me and said I should be rotting in Azkaban?”

“And how long ago was that?” Pansy asked, crossing her arms. “Years?”

Draco shrugged. “Your point? The world hasn’t changed that much.”

“Of course it has,” Pansy said. “When we left school we all thought life would be different. You thought you’d marry some sweet pure-blood witch and make babies, I thought I’d be living in France, and I’m sure Potter thought he’d be marrying girl Weasley and having the perfect life instead of coming out as gay. Things happen, Draco.”

As if Draco needed to be reminded of that little fact? When he’d read that article in _The Prophet,_ he’d spent the weekend at a local gay club, picking up and fucking every dark-haired man he could get his hands on. “I’m aware,” he snapped, pushing away his lascivious thoughts.

“It was Potter who got you acquitted, wasn’t it?” rumbled Greg from the corner. “He spoke for you, Draco. He didn’t speak for many people, just Snape, you, and your mum.”

“True.” Draco exhaled. “I’m not even sure why he did that.” He looked away. His friends were very good at detecting lies, and that was one he didn’t want to try to explain.

“He certainly didn’t speak for me.” Pansy’s tone was serious. “The only reason I’m not in prison is I didn’t take the Mark.” She looked away. “And I was only waiting until I was done with school.”

“You were smart,” said Draco.

“No, I was stupid. The whole thing was stupid.” Pansy shook her head. “Anyway, those days are over now. The world has moved on, you should, too.”

“That’s exactly what Millie said.” Draco closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I get that you think the world’s changed, but if you’re wrong, it could ruin this business for us. Although if Potter finds out I’m the chef here, that could ruin us, too.”

“Potter’s persistent,” chimed in Greg. “He doesn’t give up. He will find out.”

“Very true,” agreed Draco. “Maybe it _is_ time for me to come out.”

Pansy chuckled. “Draco, I hate to break it to you, but you’ve been _out_ since school.”

“I meant come out as head of Charmed Confections, as you well know, you insufferable wench!” Draco snapped. “And I should do it before Potter finds out on his own, and decides in his Gryffindor way that I’m up to something nefarious.”

“With pastry?” Pansy scoffed, not looking the least upset that he’d called her a wench. “What Dark magic could anyone do with cake and biscuits?”

Draco shrugged. “I’m not a Gryffindor, am I? I have no idea how they think.”

“They probably think the same way we do,” said Millie from the door. “Only more…heroically?”

Pansy snorted. “They only think they’re heroic. They’re actually judgmental pricks.”

Draco laughed. “Indeed they are.” Picking up a bag of sugar, he started putting away the other ingredients. “Was there something you wanted, Millie?”

Millie walked into the kitchen. As she walked past Greg, she laid her hand on his arm for a moment, a tender gesture that made Draco’s chest ache with jealousy. “Yes. I wanted to know why no one’s in the front when there are customers.”

“Customers?” Pansy winced, hurrying towards the front of the shop. “Actual paying customers? In our shop? Well, well.”

After she’d left, Draco, emotions back in check, looked up at Millie. “You’re serious about us having customers? As in more than one?” He raised an eyebrow. “That’s a first.”

“She told you Potter came by, yes?” Millie asked.

“Yes.” Draco returned to his cleaning. “How did _you_ find out, though? I thought it only just happened.”

“Word has obviously spread. What did you think would happen when the saviour visited? People are coming to see what we’ve got. This could be our big break,” Millie said. “The only thing that would make it better would be if you came out and joined us on a job.”

“Oh, yes,” Draco deadpanned. “Why, people would probably line up to spit on me! Although I don’t think that’s the sort of crowd we want.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Millie raised an eyebrow. “And stop trying to dodge the point. Are you going to come out as owner of Charmed Confections or not?”

Draco sighed. “Fine. Yes, I know what you meant. And we were just discussing that, you nagging cow. As it happens, Pansy agrees with you.”

“I do, too,” piped up Greg.

“Of course you do.” Draco rolled his eyes. “Lovely. You’ve managed to turn my entire staff against me. Happy now?”

Millie laughed. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. So, is that a yes?”

Draco shrugged.

“Use your words, Draco.”

“Yes! Fine! Salazar, woman!”

Millie’s grin was triumphant. “Excellent. And when shall we have you make your debut?”

“No idea.” Draco finished his last bit of cleaning and put down his wand. “How about next month sometime?”

“Oh, I think we can manage something before then.” Millie smirked. “I believe our next big catering job is the Patel/Smith wedding. That would be the perfect place for you to show yourself as part of Charmed Confections.”

“A lot of people will be there,” Draco said.

“More than likely,” Millie agreed. “Your point?”

“Nothing.” Draco wiped his hands off. “Speaking of that wedding, I should go and finalise the design of their cake. And I need to come up with some new cake flavours for the shop.”

“Yes, you do.” Millie grinned. “After all, you want to make a good impression, especially if Potter shows up in the shop again.”

Draco glared at her. He really did have insufferable friends.

* * *

“You want to do what?”

Harry polished off the last of the luscious lemon fairy cake he’d been eating. Parkinson had been right, it was delicious. Its popularity was well deserved. “I want to find out who’s running Charmed Confections, and the best way to do that is to get a job there,” he said.

“Why is this so important to you?” Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged. “I dunno. It’s just… I want to know, is all. Plus, you’ve been nagging, I mean encouraging, me to find a job. This way I catch two Snitches with one Seeker.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Nagging?”

“Fine, yes, nagging.” Harry could feel himself flushing, but he met Hermione’s gaze squarely. “Sorry, but you have to admit you do a lot of that. You have for as long as I’ve known you.”

After a moment, Hermione nodded. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to, it’s just…you really do need to find something useful to do with your life, Harry. You cannot keep knocking about your house with no purpose, it’s not good for you.”

“I know,” Harry said. “Which is why I’m going to apply for a job at Charmed Confections. I thought you’d be happy about this.”

“What are you going to apply to do?” asked Ron.

“Work in the kitchen, maybe. Or be a dishwasher. Cake taster. Something.” Harry shrugged. “I do know my way around a kitchen, after all.”

“We know,” said Hermione. She smiled as Rose ran up to her. “Yes, Rosie, I see your bear. Thank you, he’s a lovely bear. Go on and play with him now.” Once Rose had skipped off, she turned to look at Harry. “What are you really up to with this?”

Harry spread his hands. “Why do I have to be up to anything?”

“Because we know you,” said Ron. “You’ve decided something’s going on there and you’re off to investigate. It’s just like sixth year when you decided Malfoy was up to something.”

Harry suppressed the involuntary shiver Malfoy’s name invoked. “And I was right, wasn’t I?”

“That’s beside the point,” said Ron.

“You do realise you don’t even know if Malfoy even works there, yes?” chimed in Hermione, watching Harry closely.

“Of course! And he’s got nothing to do with this. This is about me.” Harry looked away.

“Is that so?” Hermione sounded disbelieving.

“It is.” Harry shrugged. “Although maybe he is there. If so, it’d be nice to know what he’s up to these days. And it’s possible they know where he is and what he’s doing. No one’s seen or heard from him in a while. But that’s not why I want to do this. Really.”

“Yeah it is. I knew it!” Ron crowed. “It’s about Malfoy. I knew it would be!”

“Or I just want something worthwhile to do with my days,” Harry countered, feeling himself flush.

Hermione hummed. “So, to be clear, after dropping out of Auror school, deciding against becoming a curse breaker, giving up on becoming a member of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, and rejecting Kingsley’s offer to make you an Unspeakable, you’ve decided to become…a baker?”

“Baking is a noble profession,” Harry said, his hands clenching into fists. “There’s nothing wrong with baking!”

“No, there’s not,” agreed Hermione. “No need to get defensive.”

“Sorry.” Harry exhaled. “It feels like you’re attacking me for making this choice, though.”

“Oh, Harry. We’re not.” Hermione laid a hand on his arm. “We just want you to think about this. And to do it for the right reasons. I know you say Malfoy’s not the reason you’re pursuing this, but you’ve always been a bit obsessed with him. And you never did tell us what happened with him after the trial.”

Harry compressed his lips. As if he was about to tell them about what an idiot he’d been? “Nothing happened.” Sadly.

“So you’ve always said.” Hermione sighed. “All right, what if it turns out Charmed Confections has nothing to do with him? Then what?”

“Then I learn about baking and maybe I find I really like it. This isn’t about Malfoy!”

“Not even a little?” Ron asked, looking sceptical.

Harry gave him a flat look.

“All right.” Hermione smiled. “Maybe it isn’t.”

“It isn’t. It’s about me finally finding my life’s calling.” And maybe finally talking to Malfoy. Harry crossed his arms. “Why are you two so against this?”

“We’re not against it per se, it’s just a bit of a left turn, mate.” Ron polished off another biscuit. “And I already told you that you’re welcome to join me and George at the shop if you’re looking for something to do. We could use you with me going part time, and trust me, retail can be exciting.”

Harry snorted. “No thanks. I need something that’s a real job, not just a place to go and chat with my friends.”

Ron looked affronted. “I have a real job! Retail is not for wimps, you know.”

“I know.” Harry grinned. “Honestly, I don’t think I have the patience for it. Plus, remember what happened the last time I visited?”

Ron looked mollified. “Yeah, that was insane. Gawkers came from all over the place just to see you, jamming up the shop but not buying anything.”

“And you think you’ll manage to avoid that at Charmed Confections?” Hermione asked, pursing her lips.

“If I work in the kitchens, yeah.” Harry gestured to the now empty pastry box. “Plus, I bet employees get to take home the leftovers. Just think about all those biscuits. I’ll need help eating them.”

Slowly, Ron grinned. “You know, you could be on to something here, mate.”

Hermione shook her head. “Ronald! We cannot encourage Harry to do this just so you can get free pastry!”

“What? Why not?” Ron flushed. “He’s determined to do it anyway. We may as well get something out of it.”

Harry laughed. “Nice to know you’re worried about my future.”

“We _are_ worried about you,” Hermione said, shooting Ron a quelling look. “Which is why we’re cautioning you to be careful with this.”

“You’re the one who said we need to get over our old school prejudices,” Harry reminded her. “What better way than for me to go and work with a bunch of Slytherins?”

“He has you there,” muttered Ron.

Hermione shook her head. “Fine. It’s clear you’ve decided you’re doing it. Just…promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Of course. But honestly, Hermione,” Harry said. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Parkinson could poison you.” Ron took the last chocolate biscuit. “What?” he asked as both Harry and Hermione glared at him. “It’s always a possibility.”

Harry rolled his eyes. He loved his friends, but they could be exasperating.

* * *

Draco checked his appearance in the mirror for the fifth time. His chef’s jacket was immaculate, his hair neatly pulled back from his face, his expression serious. “Why in Salazar’s name did I agree to this?” he muttered.

“Because you knew I wouldn’t quit nagging until you did,” said Millie as she walked past him. “Now stop admiring yourself in the mirror and let’s go. We’re going to be late, and I thought you wanted to make a good impression?”

Huffing, Draco turned away from his reflection to glare at her. “I want our products to make a good impression,” he corrected her.

“Yes, yes.” Millie waved her hand dismissively. “Anyway, if we’re going to make any sort of impression other than late, we need to go.”

“Cool your knickers,” Draco said under his breath, following her towards the Floo.

Upon arriving at the venue, Draco looked around, sighing. It was a beautiful country estate with a view of rolling hills and a gorgeous rose garden that made Draco’s heart ache because of its resemblance to the one he’d grown up watching his mother cultivate at Malfoy Manor. Squaring his shoulders and pushing the memories aside, he got to work.

Greg and Pansy were already there arranging the pastry display, and Millie, after patting Draco’s arm, went to join them.

Draco concentrated on putting together the wedding cake, a giant tower of buttercream around which fondant birds carrying edible ribbons were charmed to fly.

Fortunately, all the guests were still at the wedding chapel, which allowed Draco to forget his anxiety about being out in public wearing his own face, and concentrate on the display.

“I really think this is your best work to date,” Millie said quietly as he was standing back making sure none of the birds ran into each other or the cake. “It’s lovely.”

“Was that…a compliment?” Draco mock gaped at her.

Millie flushed. “Keep that up and I’ll take it back.”

“No you won’t, I heard it.” Slinging an arm over her shoulders, he squeezed. “And I appreciate it.”

“And so you should,” she said, leaning her head on his shoulder for a moment. “If I wasn’t was so hard to please, you’d never know when I’m giving you genuine praise.”

“I suppose not,” Draco laughed.

“Anyway, we’re done setting up the dessert table,” she continued. “Come and see if it meets with your approval.”

Turning away from the cake, Draco went to inspect the dessert bar. Lips pursed, he raised his wand and, after only a couple of tweaks, he nodded. “That’s it. Perfect.”

“Wonderful.” Pansy smoothed her palms over her robes, and if Draco didn’t know better he’d have said she was nervous. “Now all we have to do is await the guests.”

Draco’s heart sped up. “It seems to me you have this under control,” he said. “I should go back to the shop and—”

“No.” Millie came round to stand in front of him. Clasping his shoulders, she stared into his face. “Draco. You promised.”

Draco exhaled. “I know, but—”

“You cannot keep running. You need to face the public.”

Slowly, Draco nodded, admitting defeat. “All right,” he said. “But when this all collapses around us—”

“It won’t.” Millie let go of his shoulders. “Now buck up. Here come the guests.”

Standing back, Draco watched as well-dressed people began pouring into the room. He knew many of them, although not all. Had he been out of society for so long?

When Parvati and Zacharias came in, dressed in their wedding finery and holding hands, only to be met by thunderous applause, even he clapped.

As the evening progressed, and no one said a word to him beyond asking for cake, Draco began to relax. Perhaps he had been foolish to worry. In fact, no one seemed to notice any of them, even though they were handing out pastries to anyone who approached the dessert station.

Draco frowned. Was he invisible now? The thought was oddly bothersome.

All through the cake cutting, Draco stayed in the background, and once the cake needed to be distributed, he went into action, efficiently producing slice after slice to be handed out.

Potter was nowhere to be seen and Draco, who had prepared himself for a possible confrontation, relaxed further. Was this what he had he been worried about? “Idiot,” he muttered under his breath as he worked.

“Excuse me?” said a guest in front of him, looking affronted.

Draco cleared his throat, pasting a smile on his face. “Wedding cake?” he said.

The guest, looking mollified, nodded, taking the plate Draco offered.

“Well, well, how the mighty have fallen,” came a familiar voice just as the guest had left.

Draco stiffened, turning his head towards the right. His heart sank. Standing there was the last person he wanted to see. “Blaise,” he said coolly.

Blaise Zabini, looking resplendent in formal robes, was smirking at him. “Hello, Draco. Never thought I’d see you here in this capacity. What are you, one of the help?”

Biting back a snarl, Draco strove to keep his expression neutral. “I’m the pastry chef who’s catering this event.”

“As I said, you’re the help.” Blaise laughed nastily. “So this is where you’ve been all this time? Hiding out in kitchens, baking for Mudbloods and Blood traitors? How pathetic.”

“Not as pathetic as living off your mummy’s money,” Draco hissed back. “I at least have a job.”

Blaise’s eyes narrowed. “Well, it’s not as though you could live off your family’s money now, is it? And why is that, again? Oh yes, because you don’t have any. War reparations left you destitute, didn’t they?”

“At least I have self respect enough to get a job to support myself,” snapped Draco. 

“Self respect? Looks more like desperation from where I’m standing.” Blaise’s lips curved into a cruel smile. “And should you be talking to a guest like this? What would happen if I reported to your employers that you were rude to me? You wouldn’t want your company’s…reputation to suffer, would you?”

Draco went cold at the threat. “Why you fuc—”

“Oh, I doubt that would ever happen, Blaise.” Millie somehow appeared out of nowhere, walking between them. “How are you?”

“Millicent.” Blaise eyed her. “I’m well. Better than Draco, here.”

“Oh, I doubt that.” Millie smirked. “I say, aren’t you courting Daphne Greengrass these days?”

Blaise frowned. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes.”

“I thought so.” Millie expression didn’t change. “We still keep in touch, you see, so if I hear any scurrilous rumours floating around about our company, she may begin to hear some interesting news about your, you know, physical problems.”

Blaise blinked. “What physical problems?”

Millie looked him up and down. “The very creative ones I’ll make up if you spread any stories about us, specifically Draco.” She smiled unpleasantly. “I can be quite imaginative when provoked, you know.”

“You bitch,” Blaise growled. “You wouldn’t dare!”

Millie laughed. “Why thank you, Blaisie. And I think we both know I would. Now, weren’t you just leaving?”

“I hate that nickname,” Blaise grated out.

Millie’s grin was feral. “I know.”

Muttering a curse, Blaise shot a poisonous look at Draco before turning on his heel and striding away, robes flapping.

“I didn’t need you to rescue me like I’m some fucking damsel in distress,” Draco said through gritted teeth. “I could have handled him.”

“I know you could, but I did it anyway because no one messes with my friends,” Millie replied. Narrowing her eyes, she leaned close. “No one. Not even their arsehole ex-lovers. Although, may I remind you? I did say fucking him would be a mistake.”

“Yes, as you have told me many times.”

“I just want it clear I called this one.”

Reluctantly, Draco smiled. “You really are a fabulous bitch.”

Millie winked at him. “And don’t you forget it. Now, let’s give out the rest of these pastries so we can get out of here and celebrate another successful catering event.”

“Right.” Draco squared his shoulders. “I can do this.” 

“I know you can.” And, patting his shoulder, Millie wandered off.

Draco continued handing out pastries, keeping an eye out for Blaise, but he didn’t show his face again. Dismissing him from his mind, Draco concentrated on charming guests, surprised when he actually started having fun. It was especially flattering when Parvati and Zacharias came over, holding hands, to thank him for his work on the cake.

“It turned out beautifully,” Parvati gushed. “Even better than I imagined.” She grinned at Draco. “Padma’s already talking about hiring you for her wedding next year.”

“And my mother is interested in something for my sister’s baby shower,” added Zacharias.

“We would be thrilled to cater their events,” Draco said.

When Parvati and Zacharias finally left, the rest of the guests started to filter out as well, and the party wound down.

“I’d say that’s it,” Millie said, walking up to Draco. “It wasn’t that bad, was it? You even looked like you were enjoying yourself a couple of times.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “You really are insufferable when you’re smug.”

“You love me and you know it,” Millie laughed. “Oh, and we’re possibly going to be hired for another three events. A couple more weddings and a birthday party.”

“Make that five,” Draco said. “A successful evening, indeed.”

“Very. At this rate we’ll be able to redecorate the shop soon.”

“I suppose.” Draco shrugged. As long as he had the equipment he needed in the kitchen, he didn’t really care what Millie wanted to do with the shop front. “As long as it’s within budget.”

“Which is?” Millie asked.

“Think you can do it for under two hundred Galleons?”

“I’ll make it work.” Millie inclined her head. “Now come on. We’re done here. They’ve hired elves to clean up, so we’re free to leave.”

Hired elves. Draco shook his head. The world had really changed. “I should go back to the shop and clean up the kitchen. It was a bit of a mess when we left.”

“Do it tomorrow, you’ve earned a night off,” Millie said. She smiled. “And did you notice? The world didn’t end because you came out to cater one of your own events.”

“What did I tell you about being smug?” Draco grumbled.

“That it suits me?” Millie slipped her hand in the crook of his arm. “Come along. You know it’s useless arguing with me.”

“Annoying cow,” he muttered as they started for the door.

“Ah, but you still love me.”

Draco shook his head. Salazar help him, but he did.

* * *

Harry went by Charmed Confections every day, and each day found it a bit more crowded. In fact, it was getting so full that he even had to wait for people ahead of him to order before he could get to the counter. And, after the third time he went in, Parkinson didn’t seem surprised to see him in there anymore.

“You never said, did the children you mentioned enjoy the biscuits and fairy cakes you took them, Potter?” she asked when he appeared on day four.

Harry nodded. “They did, actually. And I even managed to snag a couple of the fairy cakes for myself. You were right, they were delicious.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed them,” said Parkinson, smiling faintly. “I’ll be sure to pass that along.”

Harry looked around at the people browsing in the shop. “You look extra busy today. You’ll need to hire more workers if this keeps up.”

“Maybe,” Parkinson agreed. She shrugged. “That’s a decision for the boss, though, not me.” 

“Right.” Harry smiled. “And who is that again?”

Parkinson leaned her hip against the counter. “As I’ve mentioned before, several times, you don’t really know him. I mean them.”

“Aha.” Harry hummed. “Well, I’ve deduced the pastry chef must also be the boss, which is interesting. And it’s a him.”

Parkinson shook her head but didn’t deny it. “Why do you care so much?” she asked.

“Why are you being so secretive?” Harry countered.

Parkinson raised an eyebrow. “Secretive? Is that what you think, that we’re hiding something other than recipes for cake here?” Her expression went hard. “Is it just because we’re Slytherins?”

Apparently he’d struck a nerve. “No,” Harry said lightly. “It’s because you’re withholding the name of your chef.”

“Touché.” Parkinson smirked. “I’m still not telling you, though.”

Harry grinned, enjoying the argument. “Okay. How about I start guessing random people?”

Parkinson looked amused. “I shan’t confirm or deny anything.”

Harry pursed his lips. “Zabini?”

“Blaise? Working in an actual job?” Parkinson bit her lip, clearly trying not to laugh.

Harry grinned. “Not so good at this, are you?”

Parkinson’s eyes danced. “Well, when you suggest ridiculous people—”

“Greengrass? Nott?” Harry paused. “Malfoy?”

Parkinson simply continued smirking her expression remaining unchanged. “You’ll never get anything out of me, Potter.”

“It has to be a Slytherin though, right? At least tell me that.”

“Oh please, that’s a given.” Parkinson hummed. “Now, what are you going to try today?”

Harry sighed. “I really shouldn’t.” He patted his stomach. “I’m starting to gain weight.”

Parkinson looked him up and down. “You look like you’re in decent shape to me. What are you doing these days, anyway?”

Harry blushed, looked away. “Thanks. I…I’m not doing anything at the moment.”

Parkinson’s expression went thoughtful. “Is that so?”

Harry coughed. “Does it matter?”

“Not at all. All we care about is that you have enough money to pay for your purchases.” Parkinson nodded at the display. “Now, are you planning to get anything today? If not, there are other customers I should attend.”

He wasn’t getting anything more out of her, that much was obvious. “I’m trying to decide,” Harry said, scanning the pastries on display. “Right, today I’ll take two of the chocolate fairy cakes, a jelly roll, a box of the petit fours, and one luscious lemon fairy cake for me,” he finally said.

Nodding, Parkinson began boxing everything up.

Harry cleared his throat. “So tell me, how would one go about applying for a job here?” he asked.

Parkinson froze midway through her task. “Excuse me?”

“If someone wanted to apply for a job here, who could they talk to?”

“ _Someone_?” Parkinson stared at him. “I think it would depend.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “On?”

“Who was applying, whether or not we’re hiring—” Parkinson pursed her lips, then asked, “Is there someone you know who plans to apply?”

“I may know someone who’s possibly thinking about it.” Harry took his box of pastries from her, passing over the required money.

“Who is it?” she asked as she put the money in the till.

Harry smiled. “You don’t know them, not really.”

Parkinson narrowed her eyes. Harry almost thought he heard her growl as he tossed her own words back at her. “Pot—”

“Is everything all right here out here?” Millicent Bulstrode emerged through an inconspicuous door behind the counter. “Do you need some help with customers, Pansy?”

Parkinson exhaled, glancing at Bulstrode. “Yes, actually. Potter here has some questions, and I need to get some other customers taken care of. Could you answer his inquiries?”

“Of course.” Bulstrode inclined her head. “Potter, if you’ll step to this side to allow other customers access to the counter, I can answer any questions you may have about our bakery or pastries.”

As she moved, Parkinson met Harry’s eyes. She smirked briefly, then turned away. “How may I help you?” she said to a large witch with several children gathered around her.

“So, Potter,” said Bulstrode, arms folded across her chest. “Pansy said you have questions?”

“Yes, I asked her how one would go about applying for a position here, and she said that was a question for the boss. Is that you?”

Bulstrode’s expression flickered from disbelief to calculatedly cunning. “I have some say in such decisions, yes. Who is it that wishes to apply?”

Harry exhaled. “I would.”

“ _You_?” Bulstrode’s eyebrows went up. “Why?”

Harry shrugged. “I’m not working at the moment, and I’d like to learn a new skill. Baking could be just the thing.”

Bulstrode pursed her lips. “At the moment it seems we need someone to help with the front side of the business, dealing with customers, that sort of thing. We may eventually have need of people in the kitchen, too, but right now that’s covered.”

“I’m willing to start wherever,” Harry replied.

“I…see.” Bulstrode nodded. “We also can’t pay very much—”

“I’m not in this for the money,” Harry said. “As long as I get the chance to hone some of my baking skills, any salary will work for me.”

Bulstrode nodded. “All right. Come back tomorrow, and we can see how it goes, do a trial run, so to speak, if that’s all right with you.”

Harry held his breath. “Of course.”

“Very well.” Bulstrode held out her hand. “See you tomorrow, then, Potter.”

“Tomorrow,” agreed Harry, taking her hand and shaking it firmly. “Is eight all right?”

“That should be fine.” Bulstrode smiled faintly. “Good day, Potter.”

On his way out, Harry tossed a triumphant smirk at Parkinson. Despite her roadblocks, at last he was going to get to meet the chef.

* * *

“We need more chocolate and pumpkin biscuits,” said Millie, coming through the door from the shop. “We’re almost out, and they’re popular today.”

Nodding, Draco finished pouring the cake batter he’d been working on into the pan and put it in the oven. “More biscuits coming up,” he said, reaching for the ingredients and pouring them into a bowl.

Greg, working on icing, looked up. “Lots of customers today?”

Millie smiled. “We’re awash with people out there. Pansy is swamped. It’s a nice problem to have. I’m going back out there in a minute to help her.”

Draco nodded. “Thank you.” he cleared his throat. “I take it that means…Potter stopped by again?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. He just left.” Millie smirked. “He’s been in every day for the past few days. I imagine that’s partly why we’ve had so many customers. People want to see what he’s buying. And, since he clearly he likes the pastries here, they want to check them out.”

Despite himself, Draco smiled.

“Anyway, between Potter’s patronage and the huge word of mouth success from the Patil/Smith wedding, it looks like it’ll be a good month,” Millie continued.

“Well, that’s something at least,” replied Draco. He deliberately didn’t look up at Millie. “It’s probably the first time Potter has knowingly helped a Slytherin in his life.”

“Other than speaking for you at your trial, you mean?” Greg muttered.

Draco ground his teeth. Trust Greg to have to bring that up. “Apart from that, yes. Do you need anything else, Millie?”

Millie’s expression went serious. “Yes. Some decisions need to be made. Remember we talked about revamping the look of the place? Well, I’ve been doing some research and I have some ideas. I can show them to you later. Also, we need to hire a new person for the counter. If you want to set up some interviews, I can, although I should probably tell you that today, Potter—”

Potter again? Wasn’t it enough that the man haunted his dreams? Exasperated, Draco held up a hand. “I don’t need to hear any details about Potter right now,” he interrupted. “As for the rest? I trust you. Hire whomever you want, and change the decor however you and Pansy decide, as long as it’s within the budget we discussed previously. Now, is there anything else?”

Millie huffed. “No. But just so were clear, if you don’t like a decision we make, you don’t get to complain—”

Draco nodded impatiently. “Yes, yes, I get it. And there will be no complaining from me, promise. Is that it?”

Millie hesitated for a moment before turning on her heel. “Yes,” she snapped over her shoulder. “That’s all.”

When she had left, Greg said, “Why do you do that?”

Draco looked up from his biscuit dough. “Do what?”

“Pretend Potter’s opinion isn’t important to you.”

More Potter talk? Draco scowled. “It isn’t. I don’t care what that speccy git thinks about me or my pastries.”

“Uh huh.” Greg snorted. “So he’s not why you always make extra of the lemon fairy cakes these days? It’s not because Pansy told you she thinks they’re his favourite?”

“Certainly not,” snapped Draco. “I don’t even remember her saying that.” Except of course, he totally did.

“Right.” Shaking his head, Greg stopped mixing the icing he was working on, and began transferring it to a piping bag.

“What are you suggesting, Greg?” Draco snapped.

Greg looked up from his task. “You’ve always had a thing for Potter, everyone knows that. Even when you were supposed to turn him over to the Dark Lord, you couldn’t. Just admit it.”

“I wasn’t sure that was him,” Draco muttered. “And I may have had a bit of an interest in him while we were in school, but that was ages ago.”

Greg rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I can tell you’re totally over it.”

“I am!” Draco snapped, his movements speeding up. The spoon he was using to mix the biscuit dough clattered loudly against the side of the bowl. He exhaled, slowing down. “Anyway, even if I did still have a _thing_ for Potter as you incorrectly suggest, he’s hardly likely to reciprocate, is he?”

“You don’t know that.” Greg smiled. “I thought Millie liked girls until I got up the courage to ask her out.”

Actually, he did know. Draco bit back the words. “It’s not the same thing at all! You and Millie are both Slytherins. And you’ve known each other for years. Potter and I—” He paused, sharing his head. “We’re nothing alike,” he finally said. “We’ve always been the opposite sides of the coin. Potter’s popular, a sodding hero, and I’m a failed Death Eater who’s only out of Azkaban on sufferance.”

“You have one thing in common,” said Greg. “Wait, two things.”

“Oh?” Draco raised an eyebrow. “Enlighten me.”

Greg grinned. “You’re both gay, and you both love luscious lemon fairy cakes.”

Draco snorted. “That’s hardly enough of a basis upon which to build a relationship.”

“A relationship, hm?” Greg laughed. “I thought you didn’t like him that way?”

Holding up two fingers in an unmistakably rude gesture, Draco went back to mixing his dough, ignoring Greg’s chuckles.

* * *

Harry reported to work at Charmed Confections just before eight in the morning the following day. Parkinson was already there setting out pastries. She looked up when Harry knocked on the door, waving her wand to unlock it.

“Should I lock it again?” Harry asked after walking in.

“No, we open in three minutes anyway.” Parkinson eyed him. “So it was _you_ who wanted the job.”

Harry nodded. “Yep.”

“That means you lied when you said it was someone I didn’t know.” Parkinson smirked. “Don’t they frown on that in Gryffindor-land?”

“I didn’t lie, I just didn’t tell you all of the truth,” said Harry.

“You’re demonstrating some Slytherin thinking, there, Potter. Careful.” Parkinson grinned.

“I’ll take that under advisement,” said Harry. “Now, can I help you set up?”

She nodded. “Yes. If you’ll finish putting these out, I’ll go back to the kitchen and get more. There are gloves here.”

“Sure,” said Harry, and got to work. It didn’t take long, and he had just been contemplating going behind the counter and looking in the kitchen for more pastries to put out when Parkinson reappeared.

“We’ll start with these,” she said, a tray of pastries floating behind her. “They’re working on some more as we speak. Oh and here’s your smock.”

 _They_? Tamping down his curiosity, Harry nodded, taking the smock and slipping it on over his clothes. He’d find out who was back there soon enough. “Okay,” he said. “And is there anything else you want me to do after that?”

After going over how the till worked and teaching him the charm to open it, Parkinson went over the pricing. “That should be all I need to tell you this morning,” she said. “We’re don’t usually have very many customers until—”

The door opened and two girls walked in, making an immediate beeline for Harry’s section of the counter. There they whispered together for a while, occasionally glancing at Harry as they gigglingly decided what they wanted.

“Until when?” Harry asked when it became clear the women weren’t about to make a decision any time soon.

“I was going to say until late afternoon,” said Parkinson. “But something tells me it’s going to be a busy morning if we already have customers this early.”

She wasn’t wrong.

There were never fewer than eight people in the shop at a time, and the steady stream of people kept both Parkinson and Harry busy with orders. Harry ended up doing the majority of the selling, since Parkinson had to keep returning to the kitchen for more pastries to restock.

Mid morning, Parkinson started bringing out fairy cakes decorated with red and gold icing, round spectacles, and a lightning bolt scar. Harry raised an eyebrow. “I don’t remember ever seeing those before.”

Parkinson smirked. “The chef decided to make these the special fairy cake of the month. They’re called ‘Sweet Saviours’ and they’re chocolate with raspberry filling.”

Harry sighed. “And I have to sell them?”

Parkinson smirked. “Welcome to retail, Potter.”

Predictably, the Sweet Saviour fairy cakes all but flew off the shelves. And after his initial embarrassment, Harry got accustomed to signing the boxes with his untidy scrawl upon request. “I’m not sure I want to know what that last witch plans to do with those,” he muttered.

The witch, who had purchased a dozen of the special fairy cakes, had proceeded to cradle the box as though it was a child, murmuring to it as she’d walked out the door.

Parkinson giggled. “Be glad she didn’t transfigure them into èclair shapes before leaving,” she said, waggling her eyebrows.

Harry frowned. “Why would that matter—?” He stared at her until the realisation of what she was implying hit him. “Oh, ew! Thanks for that.”

“And speaking of leaving,” Parkinson continued, slipping off her smock and picking up her purse, “I have to go. The door’s charmed to lock if you leave, and you’ve been added to the wards, so you can get back in.”

Harry blinked. “You’re leaving me here alone?”

“I have a lunch date.” Parkinson smirked.

“But I’m new! Bulstrode only hired me yesterday.”

“And thank Salazar for that,” said Parkinson as she sauntered towards the door. “Otherwise I would have had to fake an illness or something to be able to leave, and that would have been so awkward. Did you bring a lunch, by the way?”

Harry shook his head. “It didn’t occur to me, actually.”

Parkinson rolled her eyes. “Men. Well, you’re in luck. There’s typically lunch for the kitchen staff in the back. Generally it’s sandwiches, and since Greg has a voracious appetite, there’s usually plenty. Just check in the kitchen when you’re hungry.”

Greg? That would be Goyle, then. But she had said _they_ before. “Thanks. But what about the customers?” Harry asked, waving at the ten or so people who were there waiting to be served. “What do I do with them while I’m eating?”

Parkinson pursed her lips. “You know, I’m not sure. We’ve never had that problem before.” She shrugged. “Maybe Millie can fill in for you for a few minutes. You should ask her.” And with that, Parkinson was gone.

Sighing, Harry went back to serving customers. Fortunately, after about twenty minutes, the crush waned a bit, and Harry was able to breathe.

“Everything all right out here?” Bulstrode emerged from the kitchen, looking around. “Oh, you’re almost out of pastry. I’ll let the chef know.” Her eyes narrowed. “Where’s Pansy?”

“She said she had a lunch date,” said Harry.

“And she left you alone here on your first day?” Bulstrode rolled her eyes. “That woman.” She focussed on Harry. “Are you hungry?”

Harry smiled. “A bit. I didn’t bring a lunch, though, so—”

Bulstrode shook her head. “Well, if you don’t mind sandwiches, there are some in the kitchen. I can take over out here while you eat something and get off your feet for a while.”

“Thanks, that would be great.” Harry licked his lips. “So, I won’t be…interrupting the chef at work or anything, will I?”

“Interrupting?” Bulstrode smirked. “You may distract him for a moment or two I suppose, but he’ll be fine.”

Okay. Why then, as Harry turned away, did it sound as if she softly added, “Eventually”?

Harry walked towards the kitchen door and, as he reached out to open it, saw his hand was shaking. After taking a moment to calm himself, he pushed open the door.

The kitchen was bright white, well lit, equipped with modern fixtures, and with ample counter space everywhere. Harry sighed with relief. The yellow and white stripes had been beginning to get cloying. “Hello?” he called out.

“You can place the delivery items by the door,” someone replied.

That voice sounded familiar. Harry stepped further into the kitchen. “Er, I’m not the delivery person,” he said. “I’m the new employee.”

There was a thump and a muttered oath. “The what? She didn’t tell me she’d actually hired anyone—” A head popped up from behind a counter.

Harry’s mouth dropped open. It was Malfoy, his cheeks flushed, his shoulder-length hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, but with just one stray tendril escaping to curl along his cheek. Eyes widening, he slowly straightened up, staring at Harry.

Unable to help himself, Harry began cataloguing everything that had changed about Malfoy. He was thinner, maybe a bit taller, but with broad shoulders, strong arms. As blond as ever, eyes ice-grey, features more rounded than Harry recalled, but still sharp. Merlin, but he was bloody gorgeous.

“Potter. What are you doing here?” Malfoy’s voice wavered a bit. Clearing his throat, he narrowed his eyes as if suspicious. “Wait, is this some sort of raid? Are you here in an official capacity?”

Harry blinked. “No.” He paused. “Well, yes, technically I _am_ here in an official capacity, I suppose, but no, this isn’t a raid.”

“Oh.” Malfoy moistened his lips with his tongue. “All right, why are you in my kitchen, then?”

“Er, as I said, um, Bulstrode hired me yesterday. I’ve been in the front selling with Parkinson.” Harry exhaled.

“Hired?” Malfoy’s lips thinned.

Harry nodded. “Yeah. I, um, didn’t know you worked here.”

“Or you’d have run like mad and never accepted the job offer?” Malfoy shot back. Harry could see he was gripping the edge of his work surface tightly.

“Not at all. I’d still have accepted.” Harry tried to smile, but his brain was still processing the fact that he was talking to Malfoy, who was beyond hot, and who was also, apparently, a fabulous baker. “I’m a big fan of the pastries here.”

Malfoy’s shoulders seemed to relax. “Yes, I’ve heard. You especially like the luscious lemon, evidently.”

“Yeah. They’re great.” Silence fell and, casting around in his head for something to say, Harry spotted a plate of sandwiches. “Anyway, I’m back here because I forgot to bring a lunch, and Bulstrode said there were sandwiches—”

“Right.” Malfoy nodded at the plate. “Of course. Help yourself.”

Moving towards the food, Harry said, “Did you make these, too?”

A look of abject horror crossed Malfoy’s face. “Absolutely not. I’m a specialist. I make all assortments of pastries, and I specialise in sweet only. I have no desire to branch out into savoury.”

“Ah, right. Sorry.” Picking up a sandwich, Harry bit into it. It was ham and cheese. “It’s good, though.”

“Millie makes them,” came a voice.

Startled, Harry winced, turning to see Goyle entering through a door that led to the back alley behind the bakery. “Goyle,” he mumbled around his mouthful.

“Potter.” Goyle nodded. “Welcome. How’s your first day going?”

Malfoy glared at him. “Wait, you _knew_ about this?”

Goyle shrugged. “Millie told me last night.” He smirked. “Figured you’d prefer to be surprised, so I didn’t tell you.”

Malfoy’s mouth worked for a moment. “When I get my hands on her I’ll—”

Goyle shook his head, his expression going hard. “She tried to tell you yesterday, remember? And you waved her off. So you don’t get to be upset today, Draco.”

“I—” Malfoy, seeming to suddenly recall Harry was right there, nodded stiffly. “You’re right, I had forgotten that.” He exhaled. “Well, enjoy your lunch, Potter. I need to…step out for a moment for some fresh air. Excuse me.”

Goyle frowned. “But what about the biscuits?”

Malfoy waved a hand. “You know what to do. Take them out when they’re done and frost them. I’ll be back in…” he glanced at Harry, “a few minutes.”

Dusting off his hands, he strode to the back door and slipped out. Sadly, the chef’s jacket he was wearing obscured the view a bit. Harry would have liked to have seen if his backside was as spectacular as he recalled.

“Right,” said Goyle. Walking over to where Harry was, he picked up a sandwich. “What have we got today?”

“Ham and cheese,” said Harry, still processing the fact that he’d actually found Malfoy.

Goyle grinned before biting into it. “Great. My fave.”

* * *

Draco leaned against the alley wall and closed his eyes. His heart was racing a mile a minute as if he’d been running. And maybe he had, away from Potter.

Fucking Millie and her fucking tendency to push. Of all the fucking people she could have hired, why did it have to be Harry fucking Potter? And why did Potter have to look so sodding hot? Tousled hair, bright green eyes, he was taller than Draco remembered, his shoulders broader. His lips still begged to be sucked and bitten, though…

“Shit,” Draco whispered. “Why me and why now?”

Wishing in that moment that he hadn’t given up smoking, Draco scrubbed at his face with his hands and groaned. And of course Potter had been able to take him by surprise. He’d had no opportunity to prepare, to make sure he looked perfect, every hair in place.

Not that any of that mattered, though. It wasn’t as if Potter had deliberately sought him out, after all. Unless he had, unless he now wanted what he hadn’t had before… Draco ruthlessly crushed that thought. Potter just liked the food, that’s all. Food Draco had made.

He should have known Potter would show up somehow. He was like a bloody Niffler, never giving up until he got the bottom of something. But a bit of warning would have been fucking nice!

But Millie had tried to tell him, Greg had been right. “Fucking fuckity fuck,” he groaned.

“Nice language. And I knew you’d be out here pouting once you saw him.”

Draco didn’t even open his eyes. “Go away. Now is not the time, Millie.”

“You never think now is the time for anything,” she said. He heard the clack of her heels on the ground. “You are a master procrastinator, Draco, in everything that’s not baking related. This is why it’s a good thing I handle the business side of things. Otherwise you’d never get anything done.”

True enough. Draco scowled. “That’s not the point here.”

“Of course it is.”

“No, it’s not! The point is, I can’t believe you fucking hired Potter!”

“Why wouldn’t I? He asked for the job, seemed pretty eager to get it, in fact. And we needed someone. Plus, since he’s the reason people are flooding the place, it seemed like a win-win.”

At that, Draco’s eyes popped open and he straightened up. “Wait, did you say he applied?”

“Of course!” Millie raised an eyebrow. “What, did you think I went to his house and begged him to come and work for us?”

“No, I figured you mentioned it to him in passing since he stops in here a lot.” Draco waved a hand. “You know, just as a joke, small talk. Stop laughing! This isn’t funny.”

Millie grinned. “Yes, it is.” She leaned in. “You finally have a chance to set things straight—” Pausing, she licked her lips. “Hm, wrong choice of word there, I think.” She chuckled as he growled. “To set things _right_ with Potter.”

Draco swallowed hard. “I don’t know what—”

“Yes, you do,” Millie said. “Something happened between you two. I don’t know what and, clearly, if you’d wanted me to know you’d have told me, so it’s fine, but this is your chance to deal with it, and here you are hiding and sulking.”

Damn her perceptive hide. “I don’t sulk.”

“Right.” Millie smirked.

Draco was not blushing, he was _not_. “So that’s why you hired him? To make me face my demons or whatever?”

Millie’s expression turned serious. “Partly,” she admitted. “Although mostly, it was because he asked for the job.”

“And because you knew you’d get a reaction from me.”

“That was a bonus.” She sighed. “You do need to face whatever it is you’re running from before you can move on with your life, though. And Potter’s one of the biggest ones.” Her eyes went gentle. “Plus, you have to admit you were starting to stagnate and withdraw from the world.”

“I have to admit no such thing.” Draco huffed.

Millie laughed. “Well, you wouldn’t be you if you admitted it, no.” She patted his shoulder. “Anyway, there’s another good thing about this.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“Potter now knows who the chef is, and he’s still in there. He didn’t run screaming, and he didn’t hex you and drag you to Azkaban.” Millie hummed. “Things are looking up.”

“Looking up, my arse,” Draco muttered.

“That may happen, too, if you’re lucky,” Millie tossed over her shoulder before returning to the shop, cackling as she went.

Draco rolled his eyes. “I really need new friends,” he grumbled, but as he followed her inside, it was as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

* * *

After finishing a second sandwich, Harry loitered about the kitchen, trying to look inconspicuous.

Goyle, once he’d gobbled down several sandwiches, walked over to the corner where he began mixing something that looked like icing. He kept glancing over at Harry, though, a thoughtful look on his face. “Why are you working here, anyway, Potter?” he finally asked. “Why’d you take the job?”

Harry leaned against a counter. “Because I want to learn how to bake. And the pastries here are the best I’ve ever had.”

“Never had you pegged as a baker. We all assumed you’d be an Auror or something.”

Why did it seem all Slytherins were convinced he belonged in law enforcement? Harry shrugged. “I tried that, but it didn’t work out.”

Goyle nodded as if satisfied. “Draco’s brilliant at baking. I dunno how good of a teacher he’d be, but I’ve learned lots just watching him.”

“I’m sure.” Harry coughed. “So, when do you think he’ll be back?”

“No idea.” Goyle shrugged. “Should be soon, though. We need to make more fairy cakes before we run out.” He looked down at his bowl, redoubling his mixing. “And we need more biscuit icing.”

Taking the hint, Harry left him to it and took a seat in the opposite corner to wait for Malfoy to return. He’d said he’d only be gone a few minutes, but as time ticked by and he didn’t return, Harry began to get impatient.

When the clock in the kitchen showed he’d been gone from the front of the shop for a full thirty minutes, Harry stood up. “Guess I’ll get back to work.”

Goyle, busy applying icing to biscuits, grunted, not even looking up as he left.

Feet dragging, Harry made his way back to the front of the shop, where he found Parkinson had returned. She was at the counter serving customers. “You lied to me, Parkinson,” he hissed just loudly enough that only she could hear.

She glanced at him. “About?”

“Malfoy _is_ the chef!”

Parkinson smirked. “All I said was, it was someone you don’t really know. Do you honestly feel as if you know Draco?”

“I—” Harry hesitated. Did he? He knew the look of intense concentration on Malfoy’s face when he was stirring a hot potions cauldron, he knew the way Malfoy held his wand when he cast spells in Defence, the way his hair would flow in the wind when he was Seeking the Snitch on a broom, the way he’d looked he day he’d approached Harry after the trial— “I think I know him well enough.”

Parkinson shrugged, clearly unrepentant. “It wasn’t my secret to tell.” Her lips twitched. “Plus, it was fun winding you up.”

Harry scowled. “Thanks a lot.”

Parkinson chuckled. “Oh, lighten up, Potter. Admit it, you had more fun finding out this way.”

Fun? Malfoy had basically run as soon as he’d seen him, not that he could blame him. “I’m not sure about that. I didn’t actually get a chance to talk to him.”

“No? Interesting.” Parkinson handed a box over to a customer. “Well, _I’m_ sure you’re having fun. You’re the sort who likes the chase. Admit it. Plus, Draco swore me to secrecy, and I wasn’t about to betray him.”

Slytherin loyalty. Harry nodded. “All right.” He could respect that, even if he didn’t like it. Exhaling, he looked up at the clock. “At least your lunch was a short one.”

“I hadn’t planned for it to be.” Parkinson rolled her eyes. “I was about to order my second martini, but then Millie decided it was time for me return to the shop, so—”

“Ah.” Harry eyed the line of waiting people. “Well, I’m glad you came back early. It looks like we’re about to get busy again.” He frowned. “Wait, how did Bulstrode even find you? Did you tell her where you were going?”

“Salazar, no. As if!” Parkinson tapped her pocket. “She texted me on my mobile.”

Harry blinked. “You have a mobile?”

Parkinson snorted. “I’m a modern witch, Potter, of course I do.”

“Right. Of course,” Harry muttered as she turned away to serve a customer. “Silly me.”

They worked steadily all afternoon. By unspoken consensus, Parkinson was the one who ventured into the kitchen to restock. Evidently, Malfoy returned at some point, because pastries began pouring out of the kitchen as fast as they were being sold.

At precisely six, Parkinson drew her wand, flipping the door sign to Closed. “Last call, everyone,” she said to the customers still milling about the shop. “Please complete your purchases.”

Harry rang up the last few customers, while Parkinson began to straighten up the shelves, putting things away. When, finally, the last person left, and the door was locked, Harry sighed, sagging against the counter. “Wow. Is it always that busy? It was heaving in here for a while.”

Parkinson raised an eyebrow. “No, Potter. It was only that busy because you’re here.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Ha ha, very funny.”

Parkinson wasn’t laughing, however. “I’m not joking. This only began happening once you started coming in, and now that you work here, we’re getting even more people. Of course, it’s only been four days, but still, it’s a trend we hope will continue—”

“Hm.” Harry pursed his lips. “The novelty’s bound to wear off eventually, though.”

“Oh, no doubt,” Parkinson agreed. “But until then, we may as well capitalise on it.”

Harry laughed. “Slytherin to the core.”

“If by Slytherin you mean we take advantage of the opportunities that present themselves, then yes, we are.” Parkinson pursed her lips. “And, speaking of opportunities…Would you mind taking all this stuff back into the kitchen? I would, but I…have an urgent appointment elsewhere. Plus, Draco should be cleaning up, so it’s your chance to talk to him.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. Was she—? No, she couldn’t possibly be trying to force him into contact with Malfoy. Except the glint in her eyes said differently. Maybe he had an ally. “Okay,” he said. “I suppose I can do that.”

“Lovely.” Slipping off her smock, Parkinson hung it up and, after Summoning her purse, she started towards the door. “Have a good evening, Potter. See you tomorrow. Oh, and if you could get here at around seven thirty, that would be perfect.”

Harry nodded. “I’ll be here.”

With a wave, Parkinson let herself out and Harry was left standing alone in the shop.

There weren’t very many pastries left, so in only a short while, he’d gathered them up on a tray and, taking a deep breath, pushed open the door to the kitchen, balancing the tray in one hand.

Both Bulstrode and Goyle were in the kitchen, their heads close together. When he entered they both looked up. “All closed up, then?” asked Bulstrode.

“Yes.” Harry looked around. “Where do you want all this stuff?”

“Just put them on that counter,” Goyle said, gesturing to the side. “We make all our stuff fresh every day, so we usually divide up the leftovers to take home.” He smiled. “All except Draco. He usually lets us have first dibs, and not much is left over.”

“Not after we take our pick, that’s for sure,” said Bulstrode with a smile at Goyle.

“Ah.” Harry set down the tray. “Speaking of Malfoy, is he still here?”

“Draco?” Bulstrode hummed. “He’s around here somewhere— Do you know where he is, Greg?”

“Yeah, he’s in the back, putting away the dry ingredients.”

Bulstrode said something Harry couldn’t hear.

Goyle nodded, then regarded Harry for a moment. “You know, I just remembered, we have an urgent appointment we need to get to, don’t we, Millie?”

“Yes, you’re right, we do,” said Bulstrode without missing a beat. “Thanks for reminding me. Potter, could you let Draco know we had to leave, but that I’ll Floo him later? Oh, and tell him I’ll handle the till.”

Evidently the entire staff made urgent evening appointments. Harry inclined his head. “Sure, Bulstrode. See you both tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” Goyle wiped his hands on a kitchen towel. “Tomorrow.”

Once he was alone in the kitchen, Harry again looked down at the tray of pastries. They’d been in such a hurry to go they hadn’t taken any. Amazingly, there was still a lemon fairy cake, so, grinning, Harry picked it up and bit into it.

Closing his eyes, he moaned. Bloody hell but the cake was delicious.

“Those are my favourite, too,” said Malfoy.

Harry’s eyes popped open and his gaze locked with Malfoy’s. He quickly slipped the rest of the cake into his mouth, then, moved by an impish urge, he slowly licked icing off his fingers. “I can taste why.”

Malfoy’s flush spread from his cheeks down his neck, and Harry would have paid several Galleons to know how far down it went. Coughing, Malfoy looked away. “I adapted the recipe from one I found in an old family manuscript.” He glanced around the kitchen. “Where is everyone?”

Did Malfoy sound a bit hoarse? Maybe he wasn’t totally unmoved by Harry, maybe Harry hadn’t completely botched things. Cheered by that thought, Harry said, “They left. They said to tell you they had to go to an appointment.”

“An appointment? At this time of night?” Malfoy rolled his eyes. “And what about Pansy? I suppose she had one, too?”

Harry nodded. “She said she did.” He smirked. “I figured it was a Slytherin thing. Although Bulstrode did say to tell you she’d handle the till, and that she’d Floo you later.”

“Oh, I’m sure she will,” Malfoy grumbled. “And no, it’s not a Slytherin thing.”

Harry regarded Malfoy for a moment. His instincts told him he shouldn’t push, but— “Well, if you don’t have plans or an urgent appointment, we could always get dinner.”

Malfoy turned to face him, expression surprised. “What?”

“Dinner,” Harry repeated. “You know, the evening meal?”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “I’m aware of the definition, Potter. My question is…why would you want to have dinner with me?”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Harry rocked back and forth on his feet. “I think you know why,” he said, tone even. “We need to talk.”

Malfoy’s expression didn’t change. “We’re talking now.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “We need to talk in a more relaxed atmosphere.”

“And I think you know that’s a bad idea,” Malfoy replied, tone cool.

Harry shook his head. “Not really.”

“Do you want the reasons listed alphabetically or numerically?” Malfoy sneered.

Harry’s hands clenched into fists in his pockets. “There’s no good reason why we can’t have a meal together and talk.”

“Oh no?” Malfoy extended his left arm and, using his right hand, pulled up the sleeve of his chef’s jacket to reveal the flesh beneath. The Dark Mark was an ugly blot on his pale skin. “This is probably the most important one. Although, of course, there are others.” Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “Or have you forgotten?”

“No, I haven’t forgotten. And the Mark doesn’t matter,” said Harry, eyes trained on Malfoy’s face. “What matters is, when the time came, you helped me by not handing me over to Voldemort. But for you, I’d probably be dead.”

Face flushed, Malfoy pulled down his sleeve to cover his Mark. He scowled. “It wasn’t all that altruistic of me, Potter. I just wasn’t absolutely sure it was you, and to call _him_ on a hunch would have been suicidal.”

“That’s rubbish and you know it. You were sure. I know you were. You could see it was me, I saw the recognition in your eyes.” Harry smiled as Malfoy looked away. “Why do you think I spoke for you at your trial?”

“Presumably because my mother asked?” Malfoy wouldn’t meet Harry’s eyes. “Bet you wouldn’t have if you’d known about…that other thing, I suppose.”

“Your mother did ask,” Harry agreed. “But I’d planned to do it even before she asked. And as for that other thing…I want to apologise about how I reacted—”

“There’s no need,” said Malfoy, eyes still averted. “It’s behind us.”

“Is it?” Harry studied Malfoy carefully. “Then why do I get the feeling that it isn’t?”

Malfoy looked at him, his expression giving nothing away. “If speaking for me was your way of repaying me for not betraying you to my aunt and the Dark L— Voldemort, then fine, consider it repaid. As for the other, it would be best if we just forget it happened.”

“I’d rather not.” Harry smiled as Malfoy’s eyes widened. “After all, it motivated me to find you.”

“You’ve been looking for me?”

“Yes. After the trials you all but disappeared. I was…concerned. I’m glad you’re okay and I just wanted to talk about how you ended up here, doing this.”

“Is that so?” Malfoy inclined his head, staring at Harry for a long moment. His expression didn’t change, but Harry got the impression he was amused. “Were you _worried_ about me, Potter? Did you think your rejection would make me do something stupid?”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek to hold back a sarcastic retort. “I admit I was a bit worried,” he said. “I sort of felt responsible for you after the trial, and we didn’t part under the best of circumstances.”

Malfoy snorted.

“Anyway,” Harry continued doggedly, “I came here hoping to run into you maybe, and ended up addicted to the pasties. And now that I’ve found you, I’d like to know more about your life. I’m curious how this all happened.”

“Are you?” Malfoy narrowed his eyes, his gaze piercing. After a long moment, he nodded. “Fine, all right. There’s a pub down the street that serves a decent cottage pie. We can go there and…talk. You’re buying.”

Harry ducked his head to hide a triumphant smile. “Of course.”

Malfoy nodded sharply. “We can go in a few minutes. I just have to clean up here first.”

“I can help,” said Harry.

Malfoy shook his head. “That’s not necessary. Greg washed everything, I just need to put stuff away.”

“I may as well help,” Harry said. “The sooner you’re done, the sooner we eat. Plus, I work here now. I’m sure, as the newest employee, I’m expected to pitch in whenever possible.” 

“Whatever. Suit yourself,” said Malfoy, turning away.

“What should I do?”

Malfoy looked around. “If you’ll wipe down the counters, I’ll do the rest.” He pointed to a corner. “Cloths are over there in that cupboard.”

Walking over to the cabinet, Harry retrieved a cloth and began to wipe down counters even as Malfoy stacked baking trays, mixing bowls, and pots. Within only minutes, the kitchen was spotless, the white counters gleaming. The only thing left was the tray of leftover fairy cakes. “What about these?’ Harry asked.

“Do you want them?”

Harry smiled. “I’ll take them if you won’t.”

“Take them, then.”

Spotting a box, Harry picked it up, packed the pastries inside, and shrank it, slipping it into his pocket.

The last thing Malfoy did was check that all the ovens were off. “Ready?” he asked, shrugging off his chef’s jacket.

He was wearing a simple blue shirt tucked into black trousers. The top two buttons of the shirt were unbuttoned, and the sight of the hollow of his throat made Harry’s mouth go dry. How had he been such an idiot as to reject this man?

“Potter! Is something wrong? I asked if you’re ready to go.”

“No. I mean yes, I’m ready, and no, nothing’s wrong.” Clearing his throat, Harry started for the back door.

Malfoy smirked. “You may want to ditch the smock. Unless you’ve decided that yellow is your colour.”

“Ah, right.” Slipping off the smock, Harry looked around for a place to hang it up.

“Just take it with you,” said Malfoy. “Unless you’re not coming back tomorrow?”

“Oh, I’m coming back.” Harry shrank the smock, shoving it into his pocket. He sighed. Malfoy always had been able to make him feel wrong-footed, the arse. “Lead on.”

Malfoy gestured. “After you. I have to set the wards.”

Preceding him outside, Harry waited as Malfoy first locked the door with a physical key and then, waving his wand, cast powerful wards that settled into place over the building. “Impressive,” he said. “They’re similar to the protective wards on Hogwarts, aren’t they?”

“Similar, yes.” Malfoy glanced at him over his shoulder. “Are you an expert on wards?”

“I’m not an expert, but I was briefly a curse breaker, and they teach you a lot about them.” Harry smiled. “I’ve been a lot of things.”

“Jack of all trades and master of none?” asked Malfoy, pocketing the key.

Harry inclined his head, acknowledging the point. “You could say that. Now, where’s this pub?”

“This way,” said Malfoy, setting off. “Follow me.”

* * *

Draco had to force himself not to keep glancing over at Potter as they walked down the street. That Potter actually wanted to have dinner with him was…surprising to say the least, given their history.

He knew it wasn’t a date, there was no way it could be considered a date, and yet, as they approached the Witches Brew, he couldn’t help feeling as if it was a date. At least the closest thing he’d had in months. Millie was right, he needed to get out more.

“I’ve never been here,” said Potter, looking up at the façade.

Draco shrugged. “The food’s decent, and the owner’s a friend.” 

It was moderately crowded inside, but the moment they entered, Tracey spotted them. She smiled and waved, her eyes narrowing in what Draco imagined was speculation when she saw who was with him.

“Draco!” she cried as she hurried over, grasping his hands and leaning in to kiss his cheek. “It’s been ages.” She looked over at Potter, and Draco could see the wheels turning in her head. “And with Harry Potter. Are you two here for dinner?”

“Potter,” Draco said. “You may not remember her, but this is Tracey—”

“Davis. I remember. We were in school together.” Potter’s smile was wary but friendly. “And yes, we are here for dinner. Malfoy says good things about your food.”

“Does he now?” Tracey smirked. “In that case, let’s feed you so you can make your own judgement. Follow me.”

She led them to a private table in the corner, from where they could see the entire room. “I’ll send over some menus in a minute,” she said. “In the meantime, what would you like to drink?”

Draco hesitated. The last thing he needed was alcohol, but it had been quite a day, and Potter _was_ paying. “I’ll have a glass of your Frizzante.”

Tracey nodded. “And you, Potter? Would you like elf wine, too?”

Potter nodded. “Sure. I’ll try some.”

“Lovely.” Tracey smiled. “I’ll be back in a minute to tell you about what’s on special, although Draco’s boring, he always gets the same thing.”

Draco shrugged. “You know me too well, Tracey. I’ll have the cottage pie.”

“Make that two,” said Potter. He smiled as both Draco and Tracey looked at him. “I’d be foolish to ignore the recommendation of a chef.”

“Well, aren’t you two easy?” Tracey smirked as Draco cleared his throat. “Drinks will be here in a moment, and your food will be right out. I’ll be back to check on you both in a bit.”

Once they were alone, Draco sat back in his chair, watching Potter. “So, you wanted to talk?”

“Yes.” Potter leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table and interlacing his fingers.

“What about?”

“I suppose the first question is, would you forgive me?”

Draco only just managed not to gape at him. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” he said. “I’m the idiot who—”

“No.” Potter sat back, squaring his shoulders and placing his hands flat on the table. “You weren’t an idiot. Surely you’ve heard by now that I’m gay.”

Draco almost laughed. He bit his inner cheek instead. “I…yes, I believe I may have read that somewhere.”

Potter smiled faintly. “You were right when you said all our antagonism over the years was probably sexual attraction. I wasn’t prepared to deal with it at the time, but I’ve since had lots of time to think about it, and you were definitely right.”

Draco stared at him. Why was he saying this? Surely he wasn't implying—

“So, do you?” Potter said, interrupting Draco’s tumultuous thoughts.

“Do I what?”

“Forgive me.” Potter raised an eyebrow. “ _Do_ Slytherins forgive people?”

Draco exhaled. “On occasion.”

“Is this one of them?”

Draco forced a laugh. “I don’t know why you’re being so dramatic about this, Potter. The incident happened a long time ago, and as you made it clear at the time how you felt, I think it would be best if we both just forgot about it.”

Potter raised an eyebrow. “It didn’t seem as if you’d forgotten earlier today when you all but ran out of the kitchen as soon as you saw me,” he stated quietly.

Draco rolled his eyes. Where was that wine? “Forgive me for being surprised when Harry Potter walks into my kitchen and announces he’s joined my staff!”

“So that’s all that was?” Potter asked. Interestingly, he almost seemed disappointed. “Surprise?”

“Of course.” Draco inspected his nails. “Honestly, Potter. My world does not revolve around you.”

Potter ran a hand through his hair. “I never said—” He exhaled. “Look, can we just please start over?” He extended his hand. “Harry Potter.”

Draco looked at the hand, looked up at Potter, looked back down at his hand. “This isn’t necessary—”

“Humour me,” said Potter, his hand still extended.

Rolling his eyes, Draco nevertheless clasped Potter’s hand. His palm felt warm, his shake firm, strong. Draco squeezed his hand once, releasing it. “Fine,” he said, ignoring the shiver of pleasure that came from Potter’s touch. “Now what?”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“About forgiveness?” Draco pursed his lips. “I never blamed you for anything. I’m the one who overstepped his bounds by trying to force myself on you. If anything, I should be asking your forgiveness. Will you?”

“It wasn’t— You didn’t—” Potter shook his head. “It wasn’t like that at all!”

“In my recollection it was.” Draco forced himself to maintain eye contact. “I kissed you and you pushed me away and ran. I forced myself on you. How else could anyone interpret that?”

“I admit I was shocked, but when I thought about it, I realised you were right.” Potter sighed. “I admit it took me some time to come to that conclusion, though.”

Draco almost snorted. “I’m sure.”

“Hermione helped as well.”

Draco froze. “You told Granger what happened?” How had he not been hexed?

“Not the specifics, no.” Potter coughed. “But we did talk about sexuality in general and mine specifically. After I realised you were right, I tried to owl you, but you never answered.”

Draco inclined his head. “I don’t recall owls,” he lied. “I was busy with family matters.”

Potter nodded. “I figured that out later, and by then I didn’t even know where you lived, so—”

“I moved.” Draco said stiffly.

“Right.” Potter sighed. “Look, I forgive you for anything you think you may have done to me, and I ask the same from you.”

Draco exhaled. “All right, yes, fine, I forgive you. Now can we move on?”

Potter regarded Draco for a moment. “Why don’t I believe you?”

Crossing his arms, Draco sat back in his chair. “I can’t make you believe I’m sincere, Potter. You either take my word or you don’t, it’s up to you.”

Eyes narrowed, Potter slowly nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “That’s fair.”

“I’m glad you agree.” Draco smirked. “So, since that’s sorted, what now?”

Potter shrugged. “Now? We talk.” He smiled faintly. “How about we start with the obvious question. Why baking?”

“Why not?” Draco shrugged. “I’m good at it.”

“Undoubtedly,” agreed Potter. “Still, how’d you end up deciding to do it? And why?”

He wanted the whole story. Draco sighed. “After you spoke for us at the trials I thought things would be better. Yes, we were hit with war reparation fines, but we still had the Manor, and Mother was fine, and even though Father was assigned house arrest, I thought life would revert back to normal in no time. I was wrong.”

Potter nodded. “I heard what happened to your mother. I’m sorry.”

Draco looked away. It had been years, but the pain was still fresh. “The Healers assure me it was so quick she never even knew what happened, and they think she felt no pain,” he said tonelessly.

“It was…Death Eaters, wasn’t it?” Potter asked softly.

Nodding, Draco licked his dry lips. “They executed her for being a traitor to the cause. Set an explosive hex on her while she was out in Diagon one day.”

“They were caught and punished.” Potter clearly knew the story.

Draco looked up at him. “And yet they live while she’s dead.”

“They’re in Azkaban,” said Potter, his eyes hard. “Some wouldn’t call that living.”

Draco inclined his head. “Father would probably have agreed.” Just then, the wine appeared in front of them, and Draco grabbed onto his glass, taking a long sip. The warmth spread through him, easing the tightness in his throat that thoughts of his mother always brought to the fore.

“Would have?” Potter bit his lip. “Does that mean…Is he—?”

Taking a second fortifying sip, Draco nodded. “He died only weeks later. I think he’d only been holding on for Mother’s sake, and with her gone—” He exhaled. Looking down into his wineglass, he said, “Once that happened, I couldn’t bear to be in the Manor anymore. I closed it up, left it to the elves, and got a flat.”

“I’m sorry.”

Draco let the platitude slide. He doubted Potter truly cared that Lucius was dead, but it wasn’t worth challenging him about it. And who knew? Maybe he _was_ sorry. Bloody Gryffindor. “Anyway,” he continued, tone full of irony, “as the last of my line, it’s up to me to rehabilitate the Malfoy name, restore it to its former glory.”

“So you decided to do that by becoming a pastry chef?”

Was that sarcasm? Draco eyed Potter, but he looked sincerely interested. Draco shook his head. “Actually, I wanted to be an Unspeakable. I even applied, but was rejected. I was too infamous, I was told. They fobbed me off with something about Unspeakables needing to fade into the background, and how they didn’t think my reputation would allow that to happen. It was all rubbish, of course.”

“It might well be. I applied, too,” said Potter quietly. “And they…” He trailed off.

Draco arched an eyebrow. “From the guilty look on your face I’d guess they let you in?”

Potter coughed. “Yeah. But then I decided I didn’t want to spend my time in musty rooms researching floating brains or whatever it is they do there.”

Draco sneered. Typical. “It must be nice to have everything you want fall into your lap,” he drawled.

Potter frowned. “Hey, I didn’t want them to treat me that way.” He looked down at his hands. “Believe it or not, I hate that.”

The fierce note in his voice said he was being sincere. Draco inclined his head to concede the point. “Right. Well, that was probably a good thing in the end. You don’t strike me as the research type.” He hummed. “Granger, however, is another matter.”

Looking up at that, Potter chuckled. “Yeah, she’d be in her element with that lot. So, what did you try after that?”

“Well, I like money, so I applied at Gringotts, but they rejected me, as did several retail establishments.” His hand shook at the memory, so Draco clenched it into a fist.

Potter narrowed his eyes. “It was rough, wasn’t it?”

Had Potter always been so perceptive? Looking away, Draco shrugged. “It’s never pleasant being spat on in public,” he said, tone light. “Fortunately, living with the Dark—with Voldemort gives one good instincts about incoming hexes.”

“Malfoy—”

Draco kept talking. “Anyway, after that I considered the Aurors, but figured if both the Department of Mysteries and Gringotts rejected me, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement wasn’t about to say yes.” He leaned back in his chair. “As you can imagine, I was rather more circumspect about where I applied after that.”

Potter swirled his wine. “Yeah, I applied to join the Aurors, too, actually. Went through some of the program, then decided to leave.”

“Of course you did.” Draco signaled Tracey for another glass of wine. Sod staying sober. If Potter wanted the story of all his failures, he was going to get it. “And you said earlier you were a curse breaker as well? Salazar, is there anything you haven’t tried?”

Potter grinned. “Baking.”

“Which is why Greg told me you want me to teach you to bake, I suppose.” Draco picked up his second glass of Frizzante and sipped.

“Pretty much.” Potter tipped back his glass, draining it. “This wine isn’t half bad.” Signaling for another, he continued, “But you still haven’t told me how you came up with the idea of starting a bakery in the first place.”

“Mother used to bake.” Draco sighed. “Not often, and it’s been many years, but she would bake for special occasions. My birthday, Father’s…While I was trying to work out what to do with my life, I was sorting though some of her stuff, and I came across her recipes and I thought, why not start my own business? If no one wants to hire me, then I’ll hire myself. I had just enough money left to do it, so—”

Potter nodded. “Makes sense. And that’s when you hired Bulstrode and Parkinson and Goyle?”

Draco shook his head, smiling at the memory. “Millie found out what I was doing, talked to the other two, and they all decided they were going to help me make a go of it. Before I knew it, they were working with me. We’re more of a partnership than anything.”

“So that makes me your first real employee,” Potter said.

Draco blinked. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

Just then, two plates filled with cottage pie appeared before them. Potter smiled. “Looks delicious.”

“It is,” said Draco and, picking up his fork, dug in. As it had been a while since he’d had Tracey’s cottage pie, he made short work of it, although Potter still managed to finish before him.

“I can see why you like coming here,” Potter said, putting down his fork. “The food’s good, and I even like the wine, a thing I thought I’d never say.”

Draco finished chewing the last of his pie before, eyebrow raised, he said, “Not a wine drinker, then?”

“No. I never really developed a taste for it.” Potter shrugged. “Although I’ve never had elf wine before. I may have to try more sometime.”

“You should. It’s not all like this, but they have several similar varieties you’d probably enjoy.”

“You’re probably right.” Potter held his glass up, swirling the last of the wine around. “I’m beginning to discover I enjoy a lot of things I never thought I would.” Catching Draco’s eye, he smiled before tossing back the last of his wine.

Salazar on a stick, was Potter was flirting? Fuck, but he couldn’t deal with that complication right now. Looking away, Draco finished his second glass of wine and, mentally shrugging, seriously contemplated ordering a third. He could always crash at the bakery if necessary. It wouldn’t be the first time. But there was no way he could deal with a flirtatious Potter while sober.

Just then, Tracey appeared. “Did you lads save room for pudding?” she asked. “I have a lovely chocolate cake this evening.”

Potter shook his head. “Sorry, but I’m full.” He looked at Draco. “Would you like anything?”

“I’m fine.” Draco smiled at Tracey. “It was delicious, as always.”

“Thanks.” Tracey beamed. “I’ll bring the bill, then. And take your time.”

As she walked away, Draco cleared his throat. “Actually, I can’t linger. I should be getting home. Baker’s hours start early.”

Looking regretful, Potter nodded. “Yeah, I should go, too. I’m glad we had a chance to clear the air, though.”

Is that what they’d done? Draco wasn’t so sure about that, but he was good at faking it. “As am I.”

After Potter paid the bill, they both rose and exited the restaurant. It was dark when they got outside, the street lamps casting a golden glow on the street.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” Potter said, turning to face Draco.

Draco nodded. “You will if you come to work,” he said, and before Potter could do anything…flirtatious, he extended his hand. “Goodnight, Potter.”

Without hesitation, Potter shook his hand, and, to Draco’s relief, didn’t lean in or otherwise indicate he desired more intimate contact. Draco wasn’t sure what he’d have done with that. “Goodnight, Malfoy. See you tomorrow.”

Draco waited a moment, watching Potter walk away, and, as he finally spun on his heel to make his own escape, he clenched his fist, savouring the feeling of Potter’s palm on his. He wasn’t about to try propositioning Potter again, but if Potter wanted to flirt…well, that could be interesting. Maybe Draco would let _him_ see how it felt to be rejected.

* * *

“Harry!” Hermione looked surprised, but she quickly stepped aside to let him in. “We weren’t expecting you to visit tonight.”

“Is it a bad time?” Harry asked.

“No, the kids are in bed and we were just on the back porch having a drink, so it’s fine.” Hermione led the way towards the porch. “I’m glad you came. I’ve been curious about your first day at Charmed Confections. How’d it go?”

“Pretty well, actually.” Harry stepped out onto the porch. “Hey, Ron.”

“Hey, mate!” Ron looked Harry up and down, his face falling. “I guess they sold out of everything at the bakery?”

Harry laughed, reaching into his pocket. “Nope, you’re in luck.” Unshrinking the box, he handed it to Ron, who immediately perked up.

Hermione shook her head. “Have a seat, Harry. And would you like an ale or some butterbeer?”

“No, thanks, I already had a couple glasses of wine tonight, so I probably shouldn’t have any more.” He grinned. “I need to report to work early tomorrow.”

“You had wine tonight?” Hermione raised an eyebrow. “That’s not like you. You’re more of an ale man.”

“After work I went out to a pub where they had some sort of elf wine. Started with an F or a Z. It was pretty good.”

“Frizzante,” said Hermione.

“Yes, that’s it! It was delicious.”

Hermione and Ron exchanged a speaking glance and, without a word, Ron stood. “Right. I’ll just go put these away and check on the kids, shall I?” he said, carrying the box into the house.

Once they were alone, Hermione sat, picking up a glass of wine. “So,” she said. “Tell me everything. How’s Malfoy?”

Harry’s mouth dropped open. “How did you know—?”

She grinned. “Ron and I had a bet. You see, we figured if he wasn’t there, you’d come here for dinner. Since you didn’t, we assume he was there. Plus, then you said elf wine, and Malfoy’s definitely a wine expert. So, it sounds like you had drinks with him.” She winked. “Am I wrong?”

Damn, she was quick. “It was dinner, actually,” Harry said, slightly deflated.

“I see.”

Harry sat back in his chair. “Wait, why did Ron disappear like that? What was that about?”

“He lost the bet, so he gets to check on the kids.” Hermione smirked. “Plus, I’m not sure he wants to hear you start going on about Malfoy. He’ll be back eventually.”

“I’m not about to _go on_ about him,” Harry protested.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “How did he look?”

Harry sighed. “Good. Really good, actually. His hair’s a bit longer and he’s maybe a bit thinner than he was, but it suits him. I don’t think he’s been eating too well, but he’s rounded out a bit, you know? His features aren’t as sharp as they were in school, and his—” He stopped and stared at her. “Fuck me, I _am_ going on about him!”

To her credit, Hermione didn’t laugh in his face, although Harry could tell she was amused. “It’s all right, we’re used to it. So, I assume he’s the pastry chef?”

“Yes.” Harry grinned. “And you’ll never guess who’s helping in the kitchen. Goyle!”

“Oh my.” Hermione sipped her wine. “It’s a fully Slytherin operation, isn’t it?”

“It is, but they make it work, you know?”

“So it seems.” Hermione studied him for a moment. “It sounds as though you had a good day.”

“It was pretty busy, and Parkinson left me in the middle of the lunch rush, but I think I did okay. I’m still learning.”

Hermione nodded. “And Malfoy? How did he react to seeing you?”

Harry sighed. “Surprised. I think he thought I was there in some sort of official capacity or something.”

“As what, a pastry inspector?” Hermione chuckled.

Harry laughed. “Now there’s a job, right? No, I guess he’d heard I went into the Auror program. All of them seemed to think that, actually. Not sure why.”

“That’s the last career related thing the _Prophet_ published about you.”

Harry blinked. “Oh, you’re right, it is. That could be it.”

“So it seems he’s been keeping track of you.” Hermione hummed, her expression speculative.

“Not necessarily. I mean, it didn’t seem like he cared that much what I was doing.” Harry sighed.

Hermione pursed her lips. “And that bothers you?”

“Yes. No. It’s just…I dunno, I thought that after—” Harry paused, mentally debating.

“After?”

Harry shook his head.

“Oh, just tell me,” said Hermione, clearly exasperated. “I’ll find out about it at some point anyway. And maybe I can help you figure it out.”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t know that it’s my story to share, Hermione.”

She narrowed her eyes. “It’s something that happened after the trial, that much is clear. That’s when you went into hibernation mode for a while.” She chewed her bottom lip as she puzzled it out. “And then it was only a couple of weeks later when you broke up with Ginny.”

“Hermione—”

“Which means whatever it was that happened, occurred in that time.” She blinked. “It was only a couple of months later that you came out to me and Ron…Oh! Is Malfoy the reason you realised you were gay? He did something, didn’t he?”

“Why do I even need to tell you anything?” Harry grumbled. “Clearly you can figure everything in the world out all out on your own.”

Hermione chuckled. “Not everything, just the important stuff. And it helps to have confirmation,” she said. Leaning forward, she clasped his arm. “This thing that happened, it surprised you, didn’t it? What Malfoy did? And you ran.”

Harry nodded. “And when I worked it out and realised that maybe I shouldn’t have run, and that maybe I was interested in what he was…offering, he disappeared.”

“Which is why you’ve been so insistent on finding him.” Hermione sighed. “And now you think he’s not interested?”

“I dunno.” Harry groaned. “I mean, how do I tell?”

“You could ask.”

“And what am I supposed to say? ‘Oi, Malfoy, remember how you tried to pull me and I rejected you? Well, now I fancy you and I’d like to give it a go.’” Harry groaned. “He’d probably punch me.”

“Or kiss you.” Hermione smirked when Harry stared at her. “What? He obviously liked you before.”

“That was years ago! Things change.”

“He went out to dinner with you _tonight_.”

“Because I bullied my way into his kitchen and basically nagged him into it.”

Hermione shrugged. “He’s a wizard, a Death Eater. If he hadn’t wanted to go out with you, nothing short of an Unforgivable would have made him. And it’s not as if he’d have any compunctions about saying no to something he doesn’t want to do. He’s Draco Malfoy.”

Slowly, Harry nodded. She was right, Malfoy was no wallflower. “So what do I do?”

“What do you want to do?” she shot back.

“I want to be with him,” Harry said baldly. “I want to see if this could work between us. I think I made a mistake a few years ago, and I want to see if I can correct it.”

Hermione nodded, not looking surprised. “Then show him.” She sighed. “Even though I don’t know the exact details of what happened before, I can guess, and I’d say you’re going to have to make the first move this time and make it clear you want him before he’ll commit. He’s been burned, so he won’t willingly make himself vulnerable again.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. Which means I’m going to have to be the vulnerable one.” He hesitated. “I wasn’t sure you’d approve.”

She smiled gently. “You’ve been alone a long time, Harry. I just want to see you happy, and if Malfoy can do that, then I’m satisfied.” Her expression went serious. “Although he should know that if he hurts you, I will end him.”

Harry smiled. He really did have the best friends. “And Ron?”

“What about me?” Ron asked, stepping out onto the porch.

Harry exhaled. “How would you feel if I end up in a relationship with Malfoy?”

Ron glanced at Hermione, who nodded. He sighed. “To be honest, I’ve been preparing for that since sixth year, mate,” he said. He shook his head. “Although I’d appreciate it if you’d warn me before bringing him over for Christmas dinner.”

Harry snorted. “You have a lot of faith in my powers of persuasion. I’m not even sure I can convince him to go out on a date with me.”

“Are you mental?” Ron grinned. “I’d put my money on you any day. Malfoy won’t know what hit him.”

Harry smiled, feeling better with his friends behind him. “I hope you’re right, mate. I hope you’re right.”

* * *

Draco was whistling as he opened up the kitchen the next day. He’d slept unusually well the night before, and his dreams, while he couldn’t remember them in detail, had left him feeling oddly optimistic when he’d woken up.

When Greg arrived, Draco greeted him cheerfully. Greg’s reaction, clear surprise followed by a speculative look, made Draco dampen his exuberance a bit. He didn’t want questions from Millie, after all.

Of course, she knew something was different as soon as she arrived. “So, did Potter find you last night?” she asked, sidling up to his work station.

Draco, measuring out the dry ingredients for the first batch of biscuits he planned to make, pointedly didn’t look up. “Yes. And we talked.”

“I heard it was over dinner, and that there was even wine.”

Fuck. Draco exhaled, looking up at her. “Oh? And how do you know that?”

Millie smirked. “When will you learn I know everything?”

Draco sighed. “Tracey?”

“Got it in one. She Flooed me last night and filled me in on your evening with Potter. Which is why I didn’t need to Floo _you_ last night.” Millie chuckled. “And you thought me mad for keeping in touch with our old Housemates. It’s times like this when those close ties are useful.” Crossing her arms, she leaned against the counter. “So, what did you and Potter talk about? Tracey said it looked like an intense conversation.”

“It was…all right. We cleared the air.”

“Oh? What air was there to clear?”

Draco huffed. “That’s…private.”

Millie hummed. “I see. Well, whatever happened, it’s put you in a good mood today. Greg says you were actually pleasant to him when he came in, and you’re not exactly a morning person.” 

Draco continued concentrating in his task. “Potter made it clear last night that he isn’t here to cart me off to Azkaban, so I’d say that’s a big contributor to my mood. As for not being a morning person…Can’t a bloke just be having a decent day?”

Millie stared at him for a moment. “You’re plotting something.”

Draco smirked. “I have no idea what you mean.”

To his surprise, Millie laughed, hugging him. “It’s good to have you back, Draco.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “And if you need assistance with your plan, whatever it is, let me know, I’m always here to help.”

“I’ll keep that under advisement,” Draco murmured back before she pulled away. “Now, will you please leave so I can get some work done? Or have you forgotten we have that reception we’re catering this afternoon? I have a specialty cake to bake, as well as assorted pastries.”

“The Lovegood thing?” Millie nodded. “Of course I haven’t forgotten.” She winked. “Maybe you should stop chatting with me and get back to work, then. Oh, and no daydreaming about a certain new employee.”

Holding up two fingers, Draco ignored her laughter and set to work in earnest.

The day went smoothly. He and Greg worked steadily, producing the standard pastries for the shop as well as the themed fairy cakes and petit fours Lovegood had ordered for the reception. The specialty cake, in the form of a weird imaginary creature Draco had only seen described in books, took most of his morning.

Potter came into the kitchen for lunch again, although he’d bought his own sandwiches this time. And even though Draco was prepared for the encounter, the sight of Potter sent a thrill through him.

Greg, damn him, pointedly left them alone, grabbing Millie and heading out the back door with her. “We’ll be back in a bit!”

“Is Pansy out front, then?” Draco asked Potter once they were alone.

“Yep.” Potter nodded. “I think Bulstrode must have said something to her, because she said I could take my lunch break first and then come back and relieve her in a bit.”

“I see.” Draco, who had been applying ganache to some cakes, continued. He could feel Potter watching him as he worked. “Must you stare?” he finally snapped.

“Sorry.” Potter smiled. “I just wanted to see the master at work.”

Draco could feel his cheeks heating. Happily, blushing didn’t affect the steadiness of his hands as he poured and spread the ganache. “Are you serious about learning to bake?”

“Absolutely,” Potter said.

“All right, fine. Come over here and I’ll show you what I’m doing.”

Having Potter watch him wasn’t as jarring as Draco had thought it would be, and he actually seemed genuinely interested and took instructions well. By the time Greg and Millie returned, he had Potter mixing dough for the next batch of biscuits.

“Draco put you to work during your lunch break?” Millie asked, crossing her arms.

“Oh, I don’t mind,” said Potter.

“Does this mean I get to work in the front this afternoon?” said Greg, grinning.

“Are you two willing to switch jobs on occasion?” asked Millie, looking back and forth between Potter and Greg. “I’d thought about having everyone rotate jobs, but Pansy hates working in the kitchen, so—”

Greg and Potter eyed each other. “It’s fine with me,” Greg finally said.

Potter nodded. “Me, too. I’d like to see all aspects of the business.”

“Good, it’s settled, then.” Millie smiled. “Greg, you relieve Pansy so she can have her lunch, and I’ll help you out front while she’s gone. And if Potter works out here in the kitchen, that frees you up to help us cater events, like that Lovegood thing this afternoon.”

Potter blinked. “Luna’s having a party?”

“This is for Xenophilius Lovegood, actually.” Millie steered Greg out of the kitchen and towards the shop. “Some sort of reception celebrating the thousandth edition of his dodgy newspaper.” She rolled her eyes.

“I like _The Quibbler_ ,” said Potter, frowning. “They’re the only newspaper I’ll let interview me.”

Millie inclined her head. “My apologies then, Potter. I didn’t mean to insult a friend.” She pursed her lips. “You know, if you’re that well acquainted with the Lovegoods, maybe it’s best _you_ go this afternoon. It’s not that big a reception, I imagine you and Draco could easily handle it together.”

Draco looked up at that. “What? But what about the shop? Who will bake the pastries for the afternoon?”

“I can handle that,” said Greg. “I know your recipes and I’ve done it before.”

“I suppose.” Draco swallowed hard, alarm flaring through him at the thought of being with Potter at an event. “I still don’t know if that’s such a—”

“Would you like to cater an event, Potter?” asked Millie. “See that aspect of the business?”

“Sure,” said Potter. “That sounds like fun.”

“Lovely. It’s settled, then.” As Millie exited, she shot a triumphant look towards Draco. Their eyes met, and she winked. Draco glared. Her smile widened and she was gone.

“I think this batter is done,” said Potter, showing it to Draco. “Is this the right consistency?”

“Yes, that will do,” said Draco, testing it with his spoon. “Now you take this baking sheet and put a spoonful like this—”

Once the biscuits were in the oven, Draco set Potter to working on icing, while he began the fairy cakes for the reception. As he worked, he surreptitiously watched Potter.

He was more confident than Draco remembered. When he’d spoken at the trials he’d looked tired, and very young, but now he seemed relaxed, comfortable in his own skin, a man who was aware of and in control of his own power. Power that Draco felt pulsing distantly, like a purring cat that could strike at any moment.

Draco had always appreciated power. It was alluring, and more often than he liked, Draco watched Potter’s hands at work and pondered how they would feel moving over his skin, how Potter’s magic would feel if they touched, fucked.

“…finished the chocolate and the vanilla icing,” said Potter, startling Draco in the middle of a particularly erotic daydream.

“Right, good.” Clearing his throat, Draco gestured at the fairy cakes he’d pulled out of the oven. “If you put the bowls over here, I’ll ice these and you can watch so you’ll see the technique.”

“Brilliant,” said Potter.

Filling two pastry bags, Draco piped quick swirls on top the cakes, trying to ignore Potter, who was standing close watching him work. He was hyperaware of him, however, could feel the warmth of Potter’s power pulsing beside him like a throbbing sun.

“Can I try?” Potter asked after Draco completed the first tray of fairy cakes.

“All right.” Draco handed him the icing bag, their fingers brushing. A spark of awareness went up Draco’s arm. He backed away quickly, not looking at Potter to see if he’d felt the spark, too.

After a few false starts, Potter started icing fairy cakes like a professional. “Sorry I’m so slow,” he said, frowning with concentration.

“Speed will come in time,” said Draco, reluctantly impressed. “Right now I only care that you do it properly.” 

“Should I finish this set?” Potter asked, gesturing to what was left of the tray of cakes.

“Yes.” Draco left him to it, icing another tray with the chocolate frosting.

Between them, they managed to get all the pastries ready for the Lovegood reception with time to spare to make some extra pastries for the shop. When Millie returned to check on them, she looked pleased with their progress. “It’s almost time to head to the reception,” she said. She hummed. “I was going to offer to go with you, but you’re working so well together, I think you’ll be fine on your own.”

“Except I have no idea where this reception is being held,” Draco said.

“It’s at the _Quibbler’s_ offices. I can get you the Apparation coordinates—”

“Oh, I know where that is,” offered Potter. “I can get us there.” He glanced at Draco. “As long as you don’t mind me Side-Along Apparating you.”

“Why would Draco mind that?” Millie asked, sounding a bit too eager in Draco’s opinion. “Seems reasonable to me.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps it’s best if we both know the coordinates—”

“You know, I just realised, I have no idea where I put them.” Millie shrugged, her face the picture of innocence. “It looks like Potter’s your best bet for getting there.”

“Is he, now?” Draco asked, tone dry.

“So it seems.” Millie held Draco’s gaze.

“It’ll be no trouble,” said Potter, looking back and forth between them. “I’ve been there loads of times.” 

Millie smirked. “Perfect. It’s all handled, then.” She started to return to the shop, then paused. “Oh, and don’t worry about coming back here to clean or lock up, Draco. We’ll take care of all that. You two just have a good time at the reception and a good evening afterwards.”

“Thanks,” said Potter.

“Yes,” sighed Draco, glaring after her. “Thanks a lot.”

* * *

The first person they ran into when Harry and Malfoy arrived at the _Quibbler_ offices was, of course, Luna. “Hello, Harry. I didn’t know you were coming,” she said as he appeared in the lobby. She looked unsurprised to see Malfoy standing beside him. “Oh, and you brought Draco with you. How nice.”

“Hey, Luna.” Harry smiled at the picture she made. She was wearing a bright orange dress with a yellow patterned scarf and purple boots. Everything clashed and yet somehow looked perfect on her. “We’re the caterers. We brought your pastries.” He held up the bag of shrunken boxes he was carrying.

“How lovely.” Luna blinked at him. “I didn’t know you could bake.”

“I’m just learning. Malfoy’s teaching me in his shop.”

“That’s generous of you, Draco.” Luna focussed on Malfoy, who inclined his head.

“Lovegood.” Malfoy seemed stiff, and it took Harry a moment to figure out why. This was probably the first time he’d run into her on a social basis since the end of the war.

Harry cleared his throat, wracking his brain to think of something to say to try to break the awkward silence, but Luna took care of that herself.

Stepping forward, Luna laid a hand on Malfoy’s arm. “You look much better than you did before, Draco,” she said softly. “You really had a terrible Wrackspurt infestation. I’m glad you’re over that now.”

Malfoy frowned, clearly confused. “I…Thank you…I had a what?”

Covering his mouth with his hand, Harry faked a cough to hide his chuckle. “Erm, where would you like us to set up, Luna?” he asked.

“Oh, wherever you think is best.” Luna waved a hand in the general direction of the lobby. “Daddy doesn’t stand on ceremony. As long as people are happy, he’s happy.” 

Harry sighed. “Right. So how about over in this corner? That way we’ll be out of the way, but everyone will see us and can get a pastry if they like.”

“Whatever you like.” Luna tilted her head, staring at someone over Harry’s shoulder. “Oh, that person’s aura is very purple. Excuse me.”

As she wandered off, Harry just smiled.

“I honestly don’t know what she’s talking about half the time,” said Malfoy, shaking his head.

“No one does,” said Harry. “Nevertheless, she’s one of the smartest people I know.”

Malfoy nodded. “And one of the kindest. After the war, she—” He stopped. “Never mind.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. So he _had_ had contact with Luna since the war. Interesting. “Yes, she is quite kind.” Questions he wanted to ask lodged in his throat, but before he could think of a way to voice any of them, Malfoy had turned away and was surveying the room with a critical eye.

“Over here,” he finally said, pointing to the corner with the best view of the entrance. “Do you think they’ll mind if I transfigure one of the desks into a display table?”

Harry shrugged. “Probably not. The Lovegoods are a pretty easygoing lot.”

“Very well,” said Malfoy, drawing his wand. “Let’s do this, then.”

With a few flicks and swishes, Malfoy had a table set up and began unshrinking boxes of pastries. By the time guests began to arrive, there were floating trays carrying fairy cakes and biscuits that were decorated with fondant dirigible plums circling the room, plus petit fours flying around a large cake in the shape of an abominable snowman.

Harry was stationed at one end of the table, Malfoy at the other, and as they both handed out pastries to guests, Harry couldn’t help but watch Malfoy from the corner of his eye. He was bloody gorgeous, especially when he smiled. Harry even found himself resenting some of the guests he smiled at.

As the reception involved the newspaper business, Harry had assumed he wouldn’t know too many of the guests, so when someone tapped him on the shoulder, he spun around with a pasted on smile and pastry on offer. “Would you like a— Ginny?”

Ginny grinned at him. “Hermione wasn’t joking! You actually got a job as a baker.” Her eyes flicked towards Malfoy. “With Malfoy, no less. I wondered if you’d ever figure it out.”

Harry could feel himself blushing. “Figure what out?”

Ginny cocked an eyebrow. “That there was more than one reason you were obsessed with him your sixth year, silly.” She leaned in. “So, have you asked him out yet?”

Harry was pretty sure dinner the night before didn’t count. He shook his head. “Not really.”

“What are you waiting for?” Ginny rolled her eyes. “You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

Harry sighed. “Thanks for that. And yes, I’m aware. And my love life, or lack thereof, is off limits. Now, would you like a pastry, or were you just planning on insulting me all night? And where’s Dean?”

“He couldn’t come tonight, had to work late.” She sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if you weren’t the smart one for leaving the Aurors. The hours they work—” She shook her head. “Anyway, enough about my fabulous husband. Someone’s grumpy. You must not getting any.” A wicked smile crossed Ginny’s face. “Unlike me.” Smoothing her hands over her stomach, which had a small bump, she said, “I’ll have you know, congratulations are in order.”

Harry blinked. “Wait, what?”

Ginny huffed. “I’m pregnant, you goose.”

Harry’s mouth fell open. “You mean you and Dean—?”

Ginny stuck her tongue out at him. “No, me and my other husband. Yes, me and Dean! We’ve been trying for ages and we’re finally expecting! Mum was beginning to worry that the Weasley genes hadn’t bred true.”

Harry grinned and, putting down the tray of pastries he was holding, pulled her into a hug. “Of course they did, and that’s brilliant, Gin! Congratulations!”

“Thank you.” Ginny clung for a moment. “You’re amongst the first we’ve told. Mum and Dad know, of course, and Ron and Hermione, but no one else. I’m planning on announcing it this Sunday at dinner. Are you coming?”

“Yeah, I can be there.” Harry chuckled, pulling back. “I want to see George’s face when he hears the news.”

“Ugh.” Ginny sighed, letting go of Harry’s shoulders. “He’ll probably faint.” She smirked. “This will be proof that his baby sister is having sex, and I’m not sure he can handle it.”

Harry laughed. “Surely it’s occurred to him by now since you two have been married a few years.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” A curious expression crossed Ginny’s face. “And I think one of us is in trouble.”

Harry frowned. “What does that mea—?”

“If you’re done molesting the guests, Potter, perhaps you could return to your job? Those pastries won’t serve themselves, you know.” Malfoy, his tone colder than Harry could recall ever hearing it, was standing behind him.

Ginny’s eyes narrowed. “Actually, Malfoy, it’s my fault. I was distracting him. You see, I just discovered I’m—”

Malfoy held up a hand. “There’s no need to tell me anything private, Ms Weasley.” He made an ironic little bow. “You are a guest, and as such, are above reproach. Potter, however, works for me, and, as my employee, I am duty bound to make him return to work.”

Stepping forward, Ginny said, “But—”

“Perhaps you could take some pastries one to that group by the window, Potter,” Malfoy said, again cutting Ginny off. “I’ll stay here and monitor the main table.”

Harry stared at Malfoy for a moment. If he didn’t know better he’d think Malfoy was upset because he’d been talking to Ginny, but surely not?

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “Was I in any way unclear, Potter?”

Yes, there was something there, a tightness around the eyes, the way he was standing interposed between Harry and Ginny. Could he actually be jealous? Perhaps Malfoy wasn’t as immune to his charms as Harry had thought. “Not at all.” Reaching around Malfoy and picking up his tray, Harry glanced at Ginny, who was clearly seething, and shook his head infinitesimally.

Ginny blinked, then nodded, a slow smirk spreading across her face.

“I’m on my way,” said Harry, standing up straight and smiling blandly at Malfoy. “I’ll see you Sunday, Gin.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed.

Ginny’s smirk deepened. “Yes,” she said. “See you Sunday, Harry.”

Unable to help himself, Harry sashayed his hips a bit as he walked away, the area between his shoulders itching as he imagined Malfoy watching his retreat. Maybe his quest wouldn’t be so difficult after all.

* * *

Watching Potter walk away, Draco scowled. Trying to school his features to be as neutral as possible, he turned to face Weasley. “Would you like to sample a pastry?”

“I don’t mind if I do,” she said, reaching out and selecting a fairy cake and a couple of biscuits. Biting into one, she hummed. “These really are delicious.” She pursed her lips. “I’ll never admit it in front if her, but these may actually be better than my mum’s.”

Draco inclined his head. “A high compliment, indeed. Thank you.”

Weasley regarded him for a moment. “May I give you some advice, Malfoy?” she finally asked.

Draco steeled himself. “If you feel it’s necessary.”

She smiled. “It may not be not necessary, but it may help you.”

“Then by all means,” Draco said, tone dry.

“Harry’s not a playboy,” she said, stepping closer. “He’s doesn’t do casual. So if you can’t deal with that, you should leave him alone.”

It was with great effort that Draco didn’t gape at her. “I don’t know what you think is going on between us, Weasley,” he sneered after a moment, “but Potter and I are simply working together. He is my employee, nothing more.” He huffed. “And I should think you’d want to give yourself that warning. You were the one hugging him.”

Weasley smirked. “He was just congratulating me on some good news. Plus,” she looked Draco up and down, “I’m not really his type.”

“And I am?”

“I think you know the answer to that.” Weasley’s eyes went cool. “I think you know it quite well.”

Gritting his teeth, Draco somehow managed not to snap at her. “And I think you should stay out of matters about which you know nothing and which aren’t your business,” he hissed.

To his chagrin, she laughed. “He’d probably agree with you about that, but you should know, Harry comes with friends. Protective friends.” Snagging another pastry, she popped it into her mouth. “Good talk, Malfoy. See you.”

“Not if I see you first,” Malfoy muttered at her retreating back.

The rest of the evening, Draco watched Potter catering to people across the room. He was smiling, being obviously charming, and everyone clearly loved him. Draco gritted his teeth and continued serving his own pastries. Fortunately, no one else hugged or otherwise touched Potter, so eventually, Draco relaxed, even managing to dredge up a smile for the guests who stopped by his station.

When the event was over, Lovegood again approached Draco. “Everyone loved your pastries, Draco. Thank you for catering for us.”

“It was my pleasure, Lovegood.” Draco smiled. “I appreciate the support.”

“Of course.” Luna smiled distantly, patting his arm. “Payment has been transferred to your Gringotts account. Oh, I do hope things work out between you and Harry.”

Draco blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You know,” she said. “Oh dear, Daddy’s trying to make tea again, I should go.”

She left and, lips pursed, Draco stared after her.

“Should I start cleaning up?” Potter asked from behind him.

Draco spun to look at him. “Yes. If you’ll collect the serving trays, I’ll gather up the rest.”

Nodding, Potter did as instructed, walking around the room and collecting trays. While he did stop to occasionally say a word or two to someone, for the most part he did his task, and since Weasley had already left, the tightness that had been squeezing Draco’s chest when he’d seen them hugging earlier dissipated.

Shrinking everything, they divided them up, pocketing them. After saying a final goodbye to Lovegood, Potter joined him and, exiting the building, they walked out onto a deserted road. Where in Salazar’s name was this place, anyway?

“Have you ever thought about spelling your trays to return to the shop at a certain time?” Potter asked once they were outside.

Draco blinked. It was a good idea, brilliant, in fact. He hummed. “No, but that should be simple enough to do.” He cleared his throat. “Good idea. Well done, Potter.”

Potter smiled. “Thanks.” His eyes narrowed. “You know, I have all sorts of ideas for…things that could make life better.”

“Is that so?” Draco stopped walking, turning to face him. “Like what for example?”

“Like us for example.” Potter crossed his arms. “I couldn’t help but notice you seemed bothered when Ginny and I hugged earlier. You do know she's married, right?”

Married? Good. Draco sneered. “I’m afraid I don’t keep up with the day-to-day affairs of the Weasleys.”

Potter nodded. “Fair enough. Well, let me fill you in. She married Dean Thomas about a year after we broke up, but even before that, she knew I wasn’t exactly straight. Especially after—” He paused.

“After I kissed you and you ran away because you were scared?” Draco drawled.

“Yes.” Potter’s smile was tight. “I didn’t tell her what happened, but she knew something had. We talked it out and, well, she helped me a lot.”

“Well, bravo for you, Potter.” Draco shoved his hands in his pockets. “Now if you’re done, perhaps we should return to the shop.”

“I thought Bulstrode said she’d take care of closing it up tonight.” Potter inched closer to Draco. “We could always go someplace for dinner and talk again.”

“About what? Everything that needed to be said, has been.”

“Not everything.” Potter smiled. “There’s whatever’s going on between me and you to deal with.”

“There’s nothing between me and you,” snapped Draco, his heart pounding in his chest. “You ran away, remember?”

“But there could be.” Potter again moved forward until they were almost touching. “And I’m not running now, Malfoy. In fact, from where I’m standing, you’re the one who’s trying to run.”

Draco swallowed hard, but didn’t back down either. “If you’re not scared, Potter, you’ll need to prove it to me. I tried this once, and it didn’t work out.”

“Which means it’s my turn?” Potter nodded. “Fair enough.” And when, shockingly, Potter reached out and dragged him even closer, Draco gasped, the sound swallowed the press of Potter’s mouth on his, the sensual invasion of his tongue. Before he could appreciate what was happening, Draco was being shoved against the wall of the _Quibbler_ building, Potter’s body was molding itself to his, and Potter’s hard thigh was sliding between his legs, brushing against his erection.

Draco pressed his hands flat against Potter’s chest, moaning into his mouth as the kiss deepened, slowed.

He had dreamed about this, had wondered if Potter would be a decent kisser. And now he knew Potter was better than he’d ever anticipated. Every slide of his tongue made Draco shiver, and every squeeze of Potter’s hand on his bum made hot desire coil low inside him. His hands curled into fists and he clutched at Potter’s shirt.

Potter dragged his mouth from Draco’s and, panting, rested his forehead against his. “Well,” he whispered. “Now I feel like an idiot.”

Stiffening as the words sank in, Draco tried to shove Potter away from him, but Potter wouldn’t let him, clinging like a limpet.

“Relax, Malfoy,” Potter continued. “I only said that because I just realised we could have been doing this for years but for me.”

Draco froze. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, don’t you think it’s past time we made up for lost time?” Potter drew back, his eyes pinning Draco’s. “You can say no, but then it’s you who will be running, not me.”

The challenge in Potter’s eyes was clear and, licking his lips, Draco smirked. “Malfoys do not run away, Potter. Now, where are we going? Mine or yours?”

Potter leaned in, eyes blazing with what looked like triumph and lust. “Mine.”

Draco nodded in acceptance, his heart thudding in his chest. “Lead on.”

* * *

Harry had a second after they landed in his bedroom to be thankful that he’d changed the sheets on his bed that morning before Malfoy pressed up against him, sending every thought flying from his mind.

Joined at the lips, they stumbled towards the bed, tearing at each other’s clothes to get to the skin beneath.

Malfoy scrabbled at Harry’s flies, until, in what looked like a fit of irritation, he growled and, pulling his wand, muttered an incantation. When their clothes vanished, Harry hummed his approval, his soft chuckling morphing into a moan when Malfoy snogged the smirk off his face.

Naked, they tumbled onto the bed, Harry climbing on top of Malfoy, grinding down against him, their mouths meeting in a scorching kiss. When his glasses fogged up Harry raised his head, pulling them off and dropping them onto the side table before returning his attention to Malfoy.

Grasping Harry’s shoulders, Malfoy arched up against Harry, his legs falling open, allowing Harry to settle between them. Reaching between their bodies, Harry finally got his hands on Malfoy’s cock, stroking it, reveling in Malfoy’s shudders and gasps. He’d thought their first time would be fast and furious, but now that he had Malfoy under him, he wanted to take his time.

Moving his mouth away from Malfoy’s, Harry sucked his way down Malfoy’s body, listening to the way his breathing changed, feeling the way Malfoy’s hands flexed, his nails digging into Harry’s skin when he got to an especially sensitive spot.

Harry explored Malfoy thoroughly, moving down over his chest to suck at his nipples, trace the soft skin of his inner arm, drag his teeth over his ribcage.

“Are we fucking or not?” Malfoy finally snapped, his voice ragged.

“Eventually. I like foreplay,” Harry murmured. “Why, do you have someplace to be?”

“Maybe I have an urgent Slytherin appointment,” Malfoy gasped.

“If you do, you’re going to be late.” Harry ran his tongue over Malfoy’s stomach, dipping it in his navel and smiling when Malfoy emitted what sounded like a giggle. “Don’t tell me you’re ticklish,” he whispered, his lips brushing Malfoy’s skin.

Malfoy raised his head to look down his body at Harry. “I thought you brought me here to fuck me, not tease me,” he huffed.

Grinning up at him, Harry murmured, “Is there any reason I can’t do both?” And before Malfoy could reply to that, he trailed his tongue down his treasure trail until he was nuzzling the white-blond hairs at the base of Malfoy’s erection.

Malfoy’s head fell back onto the bed, a whimper escaping him. Encouraged, Harry flattened his tongue, tracing the underside of Malfoy’s cock until he reached the crown, from where pre-come slowly oozed.

“Fuck,” Malfoy moaned.

“Soon,” whispered Harry before taking the tip of his cock in his mouth and sucking.

Malfoy tried to raise his hips, but Harry held him down, sliding his mouth over and down his cock in a tantalisingly slow fashion, satisfaction making him hum as Malfoy whimpered and shifted.

“Salazar, Potter,” Malfoy growled. Shifting, he reached for Harry, hauling him up until he could snog him. Wrapping his legs around Harry’s waist, Malfoy rolled Harry over. “Time to move things along,” he breathed against Harry lips.

“Fine with me.” Harry smoothed his hands up Malfoy’s back, moaning as Malfoy kneed his legs apart and began stroking his cock.

“Lube?” Malfoy asked, raising his head.

Harry reached for the side table. “Drawer.”

Malfoy leaned over, opening the drawer and feeling around inside until he pulled out a jar. When he unscrewed it, the fresh, herbal scent filled the room, and a moment later slick coolness was being smoothed onto Harry’s erection.

Settling the jar beside him on the bed, Malfoy kneeled up, reaching behind himself. Harry’s mouth went dry when he realised what he was doing. “You do know there’s a spell for that, right?” he said, his hands helping to steady Malfoy as he stretched himself open.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “I like doing it this way. I’m old fashioned.”

Harry swallowed hard as Malfoy’s head went back. As he watched avidly, Malfoy rolled his hips, his breathing going uneven as his hand moved. “I hope you’ll let me do that next time,” Harry said. “I bet I could make you come with fingers alone.”

Malfoy looked down, his gaze locking with Harry’s. “Kinky,” he murmured, sounding approving. “I like it.” Pulling his fingers out of his arse, he wiped the excess lube onto Harry’s cock. “Let’s see if you know how to use this thing before we talk about next time, shall we?”

“Fair enough,” said Harry, and, arching, he rolled Malfoy onto his back once more.

Malfoy glared. “I was going to ride you.”

“We can do that later,” said Harry, shoving Malfoy until he was lying on his stomach. “Right now, I’m going to ride _you_. Get up on your hands and knees.”

Wasting no time, Malfoy did. Harry smiled. Evidently he liked the idea as much as Harry did.

Positioning himself, Harry spread Malfoy’s cheeks with his thumbs, lining himself up and nudging at his hole with his cock. It took some doing to get himself in, but once he was past the sphincter, he slid in smoothly, groaning as Malfoy’s tight muscles clung to his cock. “So tight,” he gasped.

Malfoy grunted, spreading his legs wider. “Come on,” he whined. “Fuck me.”

“As you wish.” Slamming in, Harry closed his eyes and began shagging Malfoy in earnest, his thrusts soon taking on a steady rhythm. He rode him with long, deep strokes, hands clutching his hips to keep him in place.

Malfoy arched his back, taking Harry deeper. His hands were fisting the sheets, moans spilling from his lips. “More,” he begged.

Harry obliged, bending over him and pounding into him until Malfoy dropped down onto his stomach. Harry didn’t stop fucking him, leaning down until his forehead rested between Malfoy’s shoulder blades. Pleasure was spreading from his core, he could feel it about to burst out of him. “So fucking gorgeous,” he whispered.

Malfoy shuddered beneath him, moaning long and low.

Harry kept moving, thrusting in and out a few more times until he, too, came, sparks shooting off behind his eyes. Shoving deep, his cock spasmed, filling Malfoy with his seed, his body trembling as the waves of pleasure slowly dissipated.

He had just enough left in him to slide out of Malfoy and roll onto his back.

For a few moments neither of them moved. Then, Malfoy shifted. “You know, I have to agree with your earlier assessment,” he drawled.

Turning his head, Harry looked at him. “Which earlier assessment?”

Malfoy smirked. “You really were an idiot.”

Harry laughed.

* * *

“You could at least say thank you.”

Draco looked up from the pastry he was kneading. “Excuse me?”

Millie, her hip leaning against the counter, smirked. “You were humming again. You’re always humming these days. And you’re in a great mood. By my count, that makes two weeks of happiness. Something good’s happening in your life. I think I know what it is, and I think you owe me a thank you.”

Draco quickly returned his attention to his dough. “It’s nothing to do with you. I’ve just been sleeping better,” he lied. “The shop’s finally starting to do well, so money issues are easing a bit—” He shrugged. “Can’t a bloke just have a good month?”

“Fine, don’t admit it. But I’m not blind, and neither are Pansy or Greg. You may want to come clean before they catch on.” Millie moved closer. “Also?” she whispered, “there’s a love bite on your neck. You should probably cover that.”

Wincing, Draco dropped the dough and, cleaning his hands off with a towel, adjusted his collar.

Millie laughed warmly. “You can spell those away, you know.” She hummed. “Unless you _like_ having Potter’s marks on you.”

As she sauntered away, Draco huffed, returning to his dough. But despite himself he was smiling. She was right. He really did owe her.

Things were going brilliantly. They had another catering job that afternoon, their eighth that month. Word was getting out about their pastries, so between the traffic in the shop, which hadn’t slowed one whit, and the catering side of things, money was rolling in. Draco had more than enough to pay himself for a change, and to stock up on groceries. Not that he had. He was hardly ever home in the evenings anymore.

He licked his lips as his thoughts, inevitably, returned to Potter. He’d left him in bed early that morning as usual, while moonlight had still been spilling across the sheets.

Potter had watched him go, disappointment evident on his face. After their first night, however, he hadn't repeated his invitation for Draco to stay over.

Draco sighed. That was the one fly in the potion. The sex was fantastic, there was no denying that, but staying the night, or inviting Potter over to his flat, was a commitment he wasn’t yet prepared to make.

The door opened from the shop. “We’re out of Sweet Saviours,” said Pansy. “And we could use some more luscious lemons, too.”

“On it,” said Greg.

Draco smiled. Greg had been stepping up more, taking over a lot of the more routine baking in order that Draco could concentrate on the specialty items. Yes, life really was looking up. If only Draco could let go of the last of his doubts about Potter…

Pushing those thoughts from his mind, Draco worked steadily, creating badger-shaped biscuits and fondant shapes for decorating. Everything was Hufflepuff yellow and black, and by the time he was done, he looked down at his jacket and winced.

“You look like a bumble bee,” said Greg, grinning.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Sodding Hufflepuffs.”

Greg shrugged. “Yeah, but their money’s as good as anyone’s.”

“True enough.”

After lunch, Potter entered the kitchen to switch jobs with Greg, and, as always when Potter was in the vicinity, Draco’s pulse sped up and his cock went half hard. It was bloody embarrassing, actually, the way his body always reacted to Potter’s presence. Something about the controlled power always pulsing beneath the surface of Potter’s skin called to Draco’s magic. It was heady, and Draco was beginning to feel like he was losing the battle to keep his independence.

“What do you want me to do?” Potter asked with a straight face.

That was aggravating, too. They had agreed to keep things professional at work, and Potter seemed to have no trouble doing that. It was Draco whose mind was always on other things, who saw innuendo everywhere. Biting back his instinctive answer, Draco said, “We need chocolate ganache made for the cake, and I think we need about twenty more petit-fours.”

Potter nodded. “On it.”

Draco tried not to ogle Potter as he moved about the kitchen, but it was a losing battle. He now knew what was under those clothes, had explored that body with hands and tongue, knew intimately the press of Potter’s firm muscles as he fucked him relentlessly into his bed. It was humiliating how much Draco wanted him all the time.

Potter glanced up just then, catching Draco’s eye. He smiled slowly, licking his lips. ‘Later’, his eyes promised.

Clearing his throat, Draco looked away. The only good thing was Potter wanted him just as much. The need was mutual. And it seemed that Potter wasn’t going anywhere. Perhaps it was time to commit.

Once the items for the Hufflepuff reception were completed, they shrank everything and packed them away. By convention, he and Potter did most of the catering, sometimes assisted by Millie, sometimes not.

As the event that day was relatively small, however, a wedding shower, Draco would be going alone.

The shower was a success. The bride-to-be was the Hufflepuff, and her friends were the ones who had arranged the party. Draco, expecting to be bored, had quickly had his eyes opened.

Some of the guests even began transfiguring the fairy cake decorations to display more suggestive themes. As some of the guests taunted the blushing almost-bride with a fairy cake that had a wriggling penis on it, Draco began to think. Clearly there would be a market for an adult line. It was something to consider.

As generally happened at parties, he ended up with two more catering jobs, and, flushed with success and mind racing with ideas, Draco returned to the shop to put away his dishes and plan the next day’s baking.

When he arrived, however, Millie was waiting, her expression unreadable.

“What is it?” Draco asked, senses on alert.

Reaching into her pocket, she handed him a letter. “This arrived by owl today. It’s a request for a catering job.”

Draco relaxed. “Okay. You can handle setting it up. Why are you showing it to me?”

“I think you need to read it,” Millie said. “While you do, I’ll be out front helping with the last of the evening rush. Let me know your decision.”

Puzzled, Draco opened it when she left.

_Draco,_

_First, I apologise for the way I acted the last time we saw each other. I was wrong. I’d like to salvage something of our relationship, if possible._

_Mother is hosting a garden party in a few days and I mentioned that you’re in catering now. She and I would like to support you in your new venture, and so we are inviting you to cater this event._

_If you say no, I understand, but I’d like to clear the air, be friends again, if you’re willing._

_Please reply to this so we can make specific arrangements._

_Yours,  
Blaise_

Draco was still deep in thought when Millie returned, Potter close behind her. While he’d cleaned up, he’d pondered how best to address Blaise’s letter.

“The shop is secured,” she said. “Pansy and Greg have already gone.”

“Good,” said Draco, lips pursed.

Potter narrowed his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Damn, but he was perceptive. “Nothing.” Draco looked at Millie. “About that job you mentioned earlier—”

Millie raised an eyebrow and waited.

“I think we should do it.”

Millie sighed, then nodded. “If you think that’s best.”

“What job?” asked Potter, looking back and forth between them.

Draco shrugged. “A garden party. Shouldn’t be a big deal. I can manage it on my own.” He smirked. “I’ll do some rosewater fairy cakes and tons of fondant flowers. It’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” Potter was still studying him as if he was a puzzle to be solved. “If you’re sure.”

“I am.” Draco met Millie’s eyes. “Will you let them know? And get any special requests they may have?”

Millie pursed her lips. “I’ll take care of it.” She nodded almost imperceptibly at Potter. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

Me, too. Somehow, Draco dredged up a smirk. “Don’t I always? Have a good night,” he said pointedly.

Millie rolled her eyes. “You, too.” She smiled at Potter. “Goodnight, Potter. I hope you have a great evening.” Then, casting one last look at Draco, she left through the back door.

“Looks like you cleaned up already,” said Potter, moving closer.

Draco nodded. “I did. Everything’s done.”

Potter smirked. Reaching out, he slid an arm around Draco’s waist, hauling him close. “Not everything,” he murmured. “I can think of a couple _people_ who need to get done.”

Draco snorted. “You’re lucky we’re already fucking, Potter, because if you had rely on that pickup line, you’d be sleeping alone.” 

Potter laughed ruefully. “Good thing I don’t have to rely on that, then, you’re right.” Leaning in, he kissed Draco, soft and slow. Pulling back, he hummed. “Now, since everything here’s clean, let’s go get you dirty.”

Draco rolled his eyes, but didn’t object.

* * *

“That was fun as always, Potter, but I must be going.” Malfoy pulled on his trousers. “I need to get the pastries started early tomorrow. Busy day and all that.”

“Of course,” Harry replied. He closed his eyes, listening as Malfoy slipped on his shoes and strode towards the living room.

“Later,” Malfoy called out.

After he heard the Floo connection close, Harry rolled out of bed, as he usually did. He’d been unable to sleep more than a few hours since he and Malfoy had begun having sex together. When Malfoy was there, he had no problem, but when he wasn’t…

Harry laughed shakily. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , but he was in trouble. He’d thought sleeping with Malfoy would somehow purge his need to see what things could be like between them, but all he’d discovered was, he wanted more and more. He wanted to curl up with Malfoy and cuddle, he wanted to hold hands with him. He wanted him to stay after they had sex. He wanted a relationship.

But every time he reached out and tried to move their relationship beyond that of just fuck buddies, Malfoy backed away. Harry understood, he did, but hadn’t he shown Malfoy he wasn’t running anymore? Hadn’t he proven himself?

Pulling on a T-shirt and some sleep pants, he padded into the living room and picked up a Quidditch mag. Settling on the sofa, he tried to read, but his mind kept returning to Malfoy; to the curve of his back, to the way he clung to Harry while they made love, to the moans and pleas he would utter while Harry moved in and out of him—

With a groan, Harry tossed aside the mag and picked up one of the pastry cookbooks he’d purchased since beginning his job at Charmed Confections. He hated feeling stupid, so he often looked up recipes and read up on pastry techniques whenever he could, just so he’d learn more while watching Malfoy create his masterpieces. Malfoy did certain things with his hands that—

Snarling, Harry shut the book, leaning back into the sofa. Glancing over at the clock, he saw it was still before midnight.

Exhaling, he walked over to the Floo, tossing in some powder. “Hermione.”

The Floo flared and Harry saw her at her desk, bent over paperwork. She looked up. “Hello, Harry!”

“Hey. Am I interrupting anything?” he asked.

Hermione shrugged. “Not really. There’s always paperwork to be done, but none of this is urgent.” She narrowed her eyes. “You look upset. Is something wrong?”

“I…Can I come through?”

“Of course. Or I can come there if you need more privacy. Ron’s upstairs putting the kids to bed.”

Harry ran a hand though his hair. “I’m a bit of a mess right now,” he admitted.

Hermione rose from her chair. “I’ll be right there. Let me just leave Ron a note.”

Stepping back, Harry stood up, closing the Floo connection. He was pacing when, minutes later, it flared again, and Hermione stepped through carrying a bag.

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

“Yes, fine. Why?”

“It just took you a while. Tea?” Harry offered.

“Sorry, I stopped to pack a few things.” Hermione pursed her lips. “And I got the feeling this would be more of a wine conversation.” She held up the bag. “I come bearing gifts.”

Harry smiled. “That’s you, always prepared.” Shaking his head, he Summoned a couple of glasses and gestured towards the sofa.

Once they were settled, full glasses in hand, Hermione patted Harry’s arm. “I assume this is about Malfoy again? I thought things were going well between you two.”

“They’re okay, I guess. We’re still sleeping together, if that’s what you mean.” Harry stared into his wine. “That part’s brilliant.”

“And that’s all I need to know about that,” said Hermione, chuckling. “So what’s wrong?”

“He’s still holding back.” Harry exhaled. “He’s only here long enough for us to have sex. As soon as it’s over, he leaves. He won’t stay, even though I’ve invited him to. I’ve never been inside his flat, either. And he wants things to be secret between us. I don’t think he’s told his friends about us at all.”

“And you want everyone to know?”

Harry nodded. “I want a real relationship, Hermione. I want—” He struggled to put it into words.

“You love him.”

Startled, Harry looked up, meeting her sympathetic gaze. Slowly, he nodded. “I…yes. I guess I do.”

“It sounds to me as if he could care about you, too. It could just be that he’s wary about being hurt again.”

“And I get that. But haven’t I shown him I won’t do that again?” Harry pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Maybe not to his satisfaction.” Hermione sighed. “Or he’s struggling with this, too. For all you know he may feel the same and want concrete proof that his feelings are reciprocated. I think you’re going to have to talk to him.”

“Yeah, I know.” Harry gulped some wine, making a face. “Why am I drinking this? I hate wine.”

“But it’s Frizzante,” Hermione said. “I got it for you.”

“It is?” Harry peered into the glass. “It doesn’t taste the same.”

“Hm. Maybe it wasn't the wine you liked so much that night, but the company.”

Harry felt his cheeks going red. “I like the company tonight just fine, too.”

“It’s all right, Harry. It won’t insult me if you don’t drink it.” Tossing back her glass, Hermione set it aside. “And I think you know exactly what you need to do. The question is, are you prepared to do it?”

Harry nodded. “You’re right. And I’m going to talk to him tomorrow.”

“Good.” Leaning in, Hermione gave him a hug. “Now, try and get some sleep. You’ll need it if you’re going to have a clear head tomorrow.”

Once she was gone, Harry went back to bed, where he tossed and turned; he only managed to sleep when he buried his face in the pillow Malfoy had used, inhaling his scent.

When he arrived at Charmed Confections, there was already a line from the door heading down the street. He slipped in the side door and joined Bulstrode, who was already inside and setting up. “They get here earlier and earlier every morning,” she said when she saw him.

“Maybe we should open earlier,” he replied.

Bulstrode rolled her eyes. “Do _you_ want to arrive any earlier? This is already half an hour before I like to wake up! And of course Pansy’s nowhere to be seen.”

Harry laughed. “Well, she really isn't a morning person.”

“No Slytherin is, really.” Bulstrode smirked. “I’d have thought you’d have learned that by now.”

Harry froze. “Why’s that?” he asked, tone carefully bland.

“Why, from working with us for all these weeks. Do any of us look especially thrilled to be here in the morning?”

Harry relaxed. “I figured I shouldn’t make generalizations.” He shrugged. “Plus, Goyle’s not so bad.”

Her face softened. “That’s true, he doesn’t get too bent out of shape by anything, not even morning.” She hummed. “I notice you’re not claiming the same about Draco.” Bulstrode pursed her lips. “Speaking of Draco, what are your intentions, Potter?”

Harry gaped at her. “I don’t know what you mean—”

Bulstrode snorted. “I realise I’m not supposed to know, and that Draco thinks he’s being discreet, but I know something’s going on with the two of you. All I care about is him.” She leaned in, her expression fierce. “It took him a long time to recover from the aftermath of the war and from what happened to his parents, so if you’re toying with him, or plan on hurting him—”

“I don’t,” said Harry firmly. “That’s the last thing I plan on doing. In fact, I want—” He bit his lip. “Just know that I’m not playing. I wouldn’t.”

Bulstrode nodded, seemingly satisfied. “I didn’t think so.” She smirked. “That’s not the Gryffindor way, is it?”

Harry looked away. “Is Malfoy here yet?”

She nodded. “He’s been baking for a while. Greg came in early, too, to try to get a head start.” She glanced towards the door where customers were waiting. “Although I think we’re starting out behind today.” A buzz came from her pocket and she pulled out her mobile.

Harry nodded. At least Malfoy hadn’t been lying about why he’d left so early the night before. “What do you want me to do today?”

“I’ll need you to stay out here for the day.” Bulstrode sighed. “Pansy just texted. She’s sick.” She rolled her eyes. “Or hungover, who can tell with her? Sorry, I know you like to bake in the afternoons, but—”

“It’s fine.” Harry smiled. “There’s a catering event today, so you probably need your more experienced staff in the kitchen anyway.”

“We do, and we somehow managed to book _two_ events today, so we’ll need everyone working at one hundred percent.” Bulstrode put her hands on her hips, inspecting the shop. “Right, I think we’re ready for the hungry hordes. Shall we open?”

Harry exhaled. He’d just have to talk to Malfoy after the catering events. “Let’s do it.”

She hadn’t been kidding about the hordes. The moment Bulstrode unlocked the doors they streamed in, and Harry didn’t have a moment to breathe, much less think, for several hours.

Bulstrode returned to give him a break for lunch, but when he entered the kitchen, both Goyle and Malfoy were engrossed in packing for the various events, so he pitched in, helping them.

Unfortunately, he never got a moment alone with Malfoy, and before he knew it, it was time for him to return to work and for Malfoy to head off to his event. “Later, Potter,” said Malfoy.

Bulstrode left an hour later to cater the other event, leaving Goyle and Harry at the shop. Harry sold pastries, resigned to being trapped in the shop until closing. So when, at three, Parkinson walked in, he blinked in surprise. “I thought you were sick?”

“I was,” she said. “But I feel better now, I remembered that we had two events today and figured we’d be short-handed.” She inspected her nails. “Although, I can go home if you’d prefer—”

“No!” Harry smiled. “I could definitely use the help.”

“Very well.” Pulling on her smock, Parkinson nodded towards the kitchen. “You go on, see if they need help in there. I can handle this.”

“Brilliant. Thanks!”

Goyle, kneeling by the fireplace, looked up when Harry entered the kitchen. “…not sure how I can get the cake to Draco, Millie. I’m all alone here.”

“What’s going on?” asked Harry.

Goyle gestured to a cake sitting on the counter. “We forgot to pack one of the cakes Draco needs for the garden party. And where he went has no Floo.”

“Is that you, Potter?” Bulstrode’s face was looking out of the Floo. “Who’s working out front?”

“Parkinson came in, she says she feels better,” Harry said. “She also knew today was a busy day, so—”

“Thank Salazar!” Bulstrode nodded at the cake. “If Greg gives you the coordinates, can you take that cake to the garden party? I’m a bit tied up here, and Greg needs to keep baking.”

Harry nodded. “Of course.”

“Good.” Bulstrode shook her head. “I’d love just one day without an emergency around here.”

When she’d closed the connection, Goyle walked over to a cabinet. Reaching in, he pulled out a book. “Here’s the Apparation coordinates.”

Taking the book, Harry studied the coordinates. “Got it,” he said. “As soon as I’m done I’ll come back and help with baking and cleanup, all right?”

“Sure, okay.” Goyle returned to his bowl and Harry, packing the cake in a box and shrinking it, Disapparated.

He appeared before a stately home that reminded him of a smaller version of Malfoy Manor. He walked up the door and was let in by an elf, who led him to a drawing room.

People were milling about, some drinking tea, some wine, and almost all eating pastries; there was, however, no sign of Malfoy. Walking over to the table, Harry unshrank the cake before levitating it onto a dish and starting to cut it up.

“Do you know where the caterer is?” he asked the elf when he was done. “I need to let him know I brought the missing cake.”

The elf nodded. “This way.”

Leading him to a hallway, the elf pointed to a door. “Caterer is in there with Mistress’s son.”

Nodding his thanks, Harry walked towards the door, slowing as he heard voices.

“…come on, Draco! I’ve admitted I was wrong to dump you the way I did. The only reason I sent you that letter was to get you here. Why can’t we pick up where we left off?”

Harry frowned, peering through the crack of the slightly open door to see Blaise Zabini standing very close to Malfoy, his hand on his arm.

“What about you and Daphne?” asked Malfoy. “Last I heard you two were an item.”

Zabini shook his head. “We decided it wouldn’t work. She’s not my type, as you well know.” He ran his hand down Malfoy’s arm, clasping his hand. “I like my lovers with different bits, and a bit kinkier.” His grin made Harry go cold.

Instead of shaking him off, Malfoy chuckled. “Yes, I’m aware.”

“So why can’t we start fucking again?” Zabini purred. “You’re now a successful business man, I’m rich, single, available…Think of the fun we’ll have.”

“The only reason you want to be with me is because the business is doing well,” said Malfoy, finally trying to move away. “When you thought I was poor you dropped me like a Blast-Ended Skrewt—”

“But you’re not poor, not anymore. You’ve become quite the success.” Zabini clung to his hand. “A lot of that, I hear, is because Potter’s working with you these days.” His eyes narrowed. “Is he why you won’t get back together with me? Are you still holding out for Potter?”

Malfoy sneered. “That’s not your business.”

“Of course it is! He left you looking like an idiot!” Zabini snapped. “And believe it or not, I care about you. I know he’s gay now, but you’re not going to jump into bed with him and let him win, are you? If it was me, I’d—” He stopped, a slow smile blooming on his face. “Oh, Draco, that’s your plan, isn’t it? You’re going to fuck him and abandon him, just like he did you! Oh, it’s brilliant, and it’ll destroy him.”

To Harry’s horror, Malfoy smiled. “You always could see right through me. Yes, I admit it, I planned that—”

Rage and wrath roaring in Harry’s ears drowned out the rest. Feeling like he’d been stabbed in the heart and it was exploding, sending molten lava all though his body, Harry backed away slowly. Spinning on his heel, he hurried for the door. He barely got outside before he was Apparating away.

* * *

When Draco got back to the shop that evening, both Millie and Greg were still there.

“…said he’d be back,” said Greg.

“But you know how they are,” replied Millie.

“How who are?” asked Draco as he stepped into the kitchen.

“Oh,” said Millie, looking surprised. “You came back.”

“Of course I came back.” Draco frowned. “Why wouldn’t I? And who were you talking about just now?”

“You and Potter.”

Draco frowned. “What about me and Potter? And how did your event go?”

“It went fine.” Millie narrowed her eyes. “I was just saying that sometimes you and Potter don’t return when you cater events together, that’s all.”

Draco cocked an eyebrow. “Except Potter had to stay here, remember? I catered the Zabini event alone.”

Millie exchanged a look with Greg. “Draco, we sent Potter there to deliver a cake you forgot to take. You did get the extra cake, yes?”

“Yes. You’re saying Potter was the one who brought it?” Draco pursed his lips. “That explains a lot. Yes, I noticed the cake was there when I checked the table. I didn’t know how it’d got there, though.”

Millie crossed her arms. “Potter didn’t find you and tell you he’d brought it?”

Draco shook his head. “I had no idea he’d been there until you just said—” Pausing, he scowled. “Oh, fuck.”

“What?” Millie snapped.

“Blaise. As soon as I got there he dragged me off to ‘talk’. It seems he wants to get back together.” Draco rolled his eyes.

Millie scowled. “What about Daphne?”

“Apparently, they broke up.”

“Is that so?” Millie raised an eyebrow. “Because I saw her a few days ago and she was under the impression they were still dating. That toerag! I assume you laughed in his face and slapped him?”

“I wanted to see how far he’d go.” Draco snorted. “He actually had the temerity to suggest we should get back together because, and I quote, now that I have money, we’re compatible. The prat.”

“Okay, but what’s this got to do with Potter?” asked Greg.

“Right, sorry.” Draco pursed his lips. “I thought I heard something in the hallway while Blaise and I were talking, but no one was out there when we checked, so I assumed I was imagining things, but if it was Potter who overheard our conversation—”

“You don’t know that. Maybe he dropped it off and, not finding you, decided to go home,” Millie said.

“He told me he’d be back,” said Greg. He shook his head. “Potter always keeps his word.”

“Unless he’s upset because he heard something he shouldn’t,” Draco said. “Although I did tell Blaise to sod off, so he should be fine with that.” He huffed. “Lovely. I guess I know where I’m going after I clean up here. Honestly, and they say _we’re_ the dramatic ones.”

“We’ll clean up,” said Millie. “We were planning to anyway. You find Potter.”

Draco smirked. “Why, I didn’t know you cared, Millie.”

“Of course I care. When you’re happy, everyone’s happy.” She hummed. “Plus, we don’t want anything to jeopardize our association with Potter now. I think fully half the people who come into the shop these days do it to see him. He makes us a lot of money.”

Draco laughed. “You’re so practical.”

She winked. “Always. Now go.”

As he was walking out, Draco heard Greg say, “Draco and Potter, hm? About time.”

Landing in front of Potter’s home, Draco scanned the windows looking for signs that he was there. He thought he saw a light, so, slowly, he walked towards the front door, relieved when the wards didn’t immediately repulse him.

Maybe everything was fine. Maybe Potter hadn’t overheard anything, and Draco could get a well-needed rogering. It had been a long day, after all. Smirking, he knocked at the door.

“Potter?” he called. It felt odd coming to the front door like this. More often than not, they would Apparate in, attached at the lips, before stumbling towards Potter’s bed.

The door opened and Potter was standing there, his face in shadow, a glass half full of amber liquid in his hand. “Malfoy.”

“You _are_ home.” Smirking, Draco pushed past him. “I thought you’d wait for me at the shop when I got back. You usually do.”

Potter closed the door softly behind him, and as Draco turned to look at him, he sipped his drink, grimacing.

“What’s that?” asked Draco. Reaching for the glass, he took it from Potter’s hand, sniffing. “Old Ogden’s? Huh.” He sipped. “I had no idea you drank this.”

“I don’t, usually.” Brushing past him, Potter walked into his living room.

Draco frowned. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Wrong?” Potter stared at him for a long moment. Then, he laughed. It sounded bitter. “Not a thing, Malfoy. Not a fucking thing. So, you’re here for your nightly fuck, then? Is that it?”

Leaning down, Draco put down the glass he was still holding. “Right,” he said. “There’s clearly something on your mind. What is it?”

“You really are going to continue this farce, aren’t you?” Potter’s expression was both incredulous and wounded. “You should know, I’m onto your plan.”

“Plan?” Draco crossed his arms. “Why don’t you enlighten me on this plan, since you know it so well.”

Narrowing his eyes, Potter shook his head. “Oh, you’re good.”

Draco smirked. “Well, on that point at least, you and I agree. Now, are you going to tell me about my supposed plan, or are we going to fuck?”

“Fuck,” said Potter, and within three strides he was directly in front of Draco, dragging him close and capturing his mouth in a fierce kiss. Walking Draco backwards, Potter pressed him up against the wall, his hands everywhere.

Draco moaned into his mouth, immediately aroused. Potter was usually so careful with him, never rough, but that considerate Potter was nowhere to be seen at the moment. Instead he’d been replaced by an angry, feral man.

Potter moved his mouth away from Draco’s, transferring his attention to Draco’s neck. He dragged his teeth against the sensitive skin, making Draco shudder.

Draco tried to move his hands, touch Potter back, but Potter had him in some sort of a immobilizing hold. Feeling trapped, his arousal fizzled away. “Potter, wait—”

“Why?” Potter growled. “I thought you wanted to fuck?” And raising his head, he stared into Draco’s eyes.

Draco blinked. Potter looked furious, not turned on. A cool wave of fear washed over Draco as Potter’s hands tightened on his wrists. Not that Draco minded rough sex now and again, but this felt…different. “Stop,” he said, voice wavering.

“And if I don’t?” Potter snapped.

“Potter, you’re hurting me—”

A look of confusion followed by horror crossed Potter’s face. He stepped back, holding his hands up, releasing Draco. “Shit. I’m sorry. I…fuck.”

Draco rubbed his wrists, wincing. “It’s fine,” he said, exhaling slowly to try to calm his speeding heart. “I don’t mind a bit of rough sex on occasion, but it has to be under the right circumstances.”

Potter looked up at him, his face miserable. “So, it’s like Zabini said, you are kinky.”

He _had_ overheard. Draco sighed. “That _was_ you in the hallway.”

Potter turned away, running a shaky hand through his hair. “Yes. And I heard you tell Zabini all about how you’d planned your revenge. How you were going to seduce me and then leave me, the same way I left you.”

Draco’s heart sunk. “All right. But then you heard the rest, right?”

Potter spun to face him. “The rest?”

“Yes. The rest of the conversation.” Draco raised an eyebrow. “Or did you leave at that point?”

“I…” Potter squared his shoulders. “I left. I didn’t want to hear any more.”

Draco sighed. “If you’d stayed you’d have heard me tell him I had thought about doing that to you, but then decided not to.” He frowned. “You do believe me, right?”

Potter shook his head. “I don’t know what I believe at this point. I mean, of course you’d say that if your plan is get me to the point where I’d be destroyed if you left me.”

There was nothing he could say to that. If Potter wasn’t prepared to take him at his word, then what was the point? Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Draco wrapped his arms around himself. “Then maybe I should leave until you decide what you believe.”

Potter hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, maybe you should.”

Without another word, Draco headed for the door. The sound of it closing behind him was like a clap of doom.

* * *

“…and then he left, and I came here.” Exhausted, Harry laid his head on the back of the sofa and closed his eyes.

Beside him, Hermione settled her head on his shoulder, and on the other side, Ron patted his arm awkwardly.

“I suppose the question is, do you believe him?” Hermione asked after a long moment.

“I want to, I really do.” Harry sighed. “But—”

“But he’s Draco Malfoy.” Ron huffed. “This is totally something he would do.”

Hermione raised her head. “Except he cares for Harry, I know he does.”

“Or he’s a bloody brilliant actor and is pretending to care for Harry. I mean, let’s be honest. Would any of us be really surprised?”

“No one’s that good an actor!”

Harry held up a hand. “This isn’t helping, you guys.” Opening his eyes, he stared at the wall. “I seriously need to figure this out.”

“Sorry, Harry.” Hermione glared at Ron. “But I’m not sure how we can help. Malfoy’s the only one who can truly know what he’s thinking.”

“There’s always Veritaserum,” said Ron. “Or Legilimency.”

“If Harry drugs him or forces his way into his mind, that will just ruin what little trust they have remaining.” Hermione shook her head. “No, there has to be another way.”

“Well, I’m open to ideas,” said Harry.

Ron snorted. “I bet George and I could beat it out of him.”

Harry sent Ron a flat look. “I’m open to _helpful_ ideas,” he amended.

“It’s a shame we can’t talk to one of his friends,” said Hermione. “Someone who really knows him. Get their opinion.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open. “That’s it!”

“What is?” asked Hermione.

“I need to talk to Bulstrode,” Harry said.

“How will that help?” Ron asked. “She’s sure to lie for him. All those Slytherins stick together.”

Harry shook his head. “They have their own code of honour,” he said. “Yes, Bulstrode cares about Malfoy, but she won’t lie to me. And I bet if anyone knows what his intentions are, it’s her.”

“And if she tells you to sod off?” Ron asked.

Harry shrugged. “Then I’m no worse off that I am now.”

“Do you know how to find her?” asked Hermione.

“I’ll try to Floo her first. If that doesn’t work, I’ll try owling. She’s sure to reply.” Harry pursed his lips. “I wish I had her mobile number so I could call her.”

“Bulstrode has a mobile?” Hermione raised an eyebrow. “That’s…surprising.”

“She uses it all the time, too. It’s how she and Parkinson keep in touch.” Harry smiled. “If I end up staying at Charmed Confections I should probably get the number.”

“Do you want to use our Floo?” Hermione asked.

“No, I should go home and Floo from there.” Harry stood up. “Plus, it’s getting late, and you both have work in the morning. I’ve kept you up late enough.”

“You know we don’t mind.” Hermione pulled him into a hug. “We’re here for you, no matter what time it is.”

Ron hugged him from the other side. “What she said, mate.” Grinning, he continued, “And if it comes down to it, and you need me and George to hex Malfoy on principle, just say the word.”

“No hexing!” Harry said, but he was laughing. “And thanks, you two.”

“Let us know what happens,” Hermione called after him as he let himself out.

Harry nodded and waved and, stepping outside, Apparated home. When he got there, he went straight to the Floo, deciding to try there first. “Millicent Bulstrode,” he said, tossing in some powder.

Moments passed, and when the flared purple indicating restricted access, he wasn’t surprised. He’d just stood up to write a note when something occurred to him. “Gregory Goyle,” he called out.

The Floo flared green. “Yes?” came Goyle’s voice. “Who is it?”

“Goyle, it’s Harry Potter. Is Bulstrode there by any chance?”

There was a pause, and then Bulstrode’s face appeared in the fire. “Potter? Is something wrong?”

Harry coughed. “I need to talk to you. Is this a good time?”

Bulstrode nodded. “As good a time as any.” Craning her head, she looked over Harry’s shoulder. “Is Draco with you?”

“No.” Harry hesitated. “He was here but he…left,” he finally said.

Bulstrode’s eyes narrowed, assessing him. “Do you need me to come over there?” she asked.

Harry shook his head. “Thanks, but that won’t be necessary. I just have a question, and I understand if you don’t feel as if you can answer it out of loyalty to Malfoy, but I have to ask nevertheless because—”

“Potter!” she snapped. “Breathe.”

Nodding, Harry smiled weakly. “Right, sorry.” He took a deep breath. “So you already know Malfoy and I are, um…”

Bulstrode rolled her eyes. “Yes, Potter, I’m aware you’re _fraternising_ outside of work. What’s happened?”

“When I took the cake over to the garden party, I couldn’t find Malfoy, so I went looking, and I heard him talking with Zabini.”

Bulstrode nodded. “Go on.”

“He told Zabini he planned on seducing me and then abandoning me the way I abandoned him years ago.” Harry held up a hand when she opened her mouth. “Don’t ask.”

“All right, I won’t.” Bulstrode voice was cool. “But we may have to discuss it later.”

Harry really hoped not. He was pretty sure Bulstrode could easily kick his arse. “Anyway,” he continued hurriedly, “I heard that and…well, it upset me. I left. When he came over tonight, we had a fight about it.”

“I’m sure.”

Harry sighed. “He said he didn’t mean it, and if I’d heard the entire conversation I’d have realised that.”

“Okay.” Bulstrode sighed. “Why are you calling me, Potter? How can I help you? Even if I wanted to, which I’m not saying I do.”

Harry nodded. “Fair enough. What I want to know is, is Malfoy setting me up for revenge?”

“How should I know?”

“You’re his best friend!”

“True.” She smirked. “But why would I tell you?”

“You might not,” Harry admitted. “But I don’t think you’d lie to me.”

Bulstrode smiled. “You’re right, I wouldn’t. But I also don’t know the answer to your question. I do, however, have a question for you, Potter.”

“Yes?”

“Why would you believe me, but not believe Draco?”

“I…” Harry blinked. Bloody hell, she was right. “Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re right.” He looked at her. “I need to just believe him. Can you tell me where he is?”

“He’s probably at home.”

“And where’s that?”

Bulstrode eyed him for a moment. “I probably shouldn’t do this, but, fine, I’ll tell you.” After giving him the address, she said, “What are you going to do?”

“Go and see him, try to talk to him.” Harry looked away. “Try and believe him.”

“But there will always be doubt, won’t there?” Bulstrode pursed her lips. “Tell you what, Potter. I’ll get you proof of what Draco said to Blaise. After that, it’s up to you. Will that work?”

Harry frowned. “I guess. But how—?”

She smirked. “Leave that to me.” Bulstrode cracked her neck, the look on her face a bit frightening. “I’ll be in touch. Don’t go to Draco’s until you hear from me again.” Her smirk widened. “You know, this should be fun.”

Once she had closed the connection, Harry sat back on his haunches and shook his head. What in the hell had he started?

* * *

Draco groaned as the pounding got louder and louder. After leaving Potter’s, he’d come home, opened a bottle of wine, and proceeded to drink the entire thing. But even that shouldn’t have caused this sort of throbbing in his head.

“…alfoy! Get up!”

Sitting up in bed, Draco blinked. Someone was at the Floo.

“What?” he groaned, kneeling by the fireplace and opening the connection. He blinked when he saw who it was. “Blaise? What the hell are you doing calling me in the middle of the night?”

“You bastard!”

Draco yawned. “Blaise, I have no idea what you’re on about, and it’s very late. Or early, depending on your outlook, so if you can’t be more specific, I’m going to close the Floo and go back to bed now—”

Blaise scowled. “You expect me to believe you didn’t send her?”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Send who?”

“Millicent!”

“What about Millie?” Draco asked, more alert. “Is she all right?”

“Is she all right? Is _she_ all right?” Blaise’s eyes were wild, his voice getting higher and higher. “What could possibly hurt her? She’s built like a fucking brick wall! She’s fine. I’m the one who’s traumatised!”

“Okay,” said Draco slowly. “And why is that?”

“She barged in here, demanding that I hand over the memories of my conversation with you from earlier today. When I told her to get out, she threatened me!” Blaise licked his lips. “Draco, I honestly thought she was going to hurt me!”

Draco coughed to hide his smirk. Salazar, but he loved that woman. “So what did you do?” he asked.

“I gave her the memory, of course!” Blaise shook his head. “What did she want it for, though? And if you didn’t send her, who did?”

“I have no idea,” Draco lied. “I can always ask her why she—”

“No!” Blaise shuddered. “She might come back.”

“Right.” Draco yawned again. “What exactly do you want me to do, Blaise?”

“Just…get her to stay away from me.” Blaise scowled. “She’s scary.”

Draco sighed. What had he ever seen in this prat? “Goodnight, Blaise.” And ignoring his sputters, Draco closed the connection.

Standing up, he stretched, looking over at his clock. One in the morning. Groaning, he started back towards his bed.

Just as he was about to pull the covers over himself, someone knocked at the door. Draco closed his eyes. “Really?” he muttered.

“Malfoy! I know you’re in there!”

Growling, Draco got up out of bed again and, dragging on a dressing gown, padded to the door. “For fuck’s sake! If it’s you again, Blaise, I’m going to hex you into next week,” he muttered. He flung open the door, the angry words dying on his lips when he saw who it was. He blinked. “Potter?”

Potter, looking contrite, was standing there. “Malfoy. Sorry to wake you, but—” He squared his shoulders. “Can we talk?”

Draco was seriously tempted to say no, but before he knew it, he was moving aside, gesturing Potter in. Closing the door, he pushed past Potter. “As it seems clear I’m not getting any more sleep tonight, I’ll make some tea,” he said, tone dry.

“Sorry.” Potter followed him into the kitchen, leaning up against the counter as he watched Draco work. It was strange how tiny everything felt with Potter there.

“How did you find me, anyway?” Draco asked.

“Bulstrode.”

Draco sighed. “Of course.”

Potter edged closer.

“Must you loom like that?” Draco snapped.

“Sorry.” Potter snagged a chair, and after spinning it around, sat on it astride.

“And stop apologising.”

“Sorr—” Potter coughed. “All right.”

Draco sighed. Turning to face him, he crossed his arms, leaning against a cabinet. “What do you want Potter? Why are you here? It’s not for tea.”

“No.” Potter smiled faintly. “Honestly, I’m here to apologise for the way I acted earlier, but since you’d rather I stop doing that—”

Draco rolled his eyes.

Potter’s smile died. “First, I truly am sorry, Malfoy. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I don’t what came over me, not that that’s any sort of excuse—”

Draco huffed. “It was fine.” He shrugged. “And you stopped when I asked, so—”

“Nevertheless.” Potter looked down at his hands. “I’ve never ever forced myself on someone in my life—”

“Potter.” When he looked up, Draco inclined his head. “I forced a kiss on you back when you didn’t even know you were gay. I’d say we’re even.”

“But—”

“Leave it. It’s over and done with. Plus, I don’t want you to think I’m some delicate flower. I like a bit of rough handling on occasion. Consider it forgotten. I know you won’t do it again.” Draco smirked. “Unless I ask nicely.”

Potter blinked, then inclined his head. “Thank you. And I won’t. The other thing is, I should have believed you,” he said. “And I wanted to. But when I saw you with Zabini, I just…I went a bit mad. I’ve since had a chance to think, and, well, Bulstrode helped me figure things out as well, so—”

Draco held up a hand. “Wait, Millie helped you figure things out?”

Potter nodded. “I Floo-called her earlier to see if she could help me decide what to think, and she said she’d get me proof of your conversation with Zabini.”

Draco bit the inside of his cheek. Hard. Fuck, but he owed Millie big. “Mmhm.”

Potter shook his head. “And I don’t know how she did it, but about an hour after I spoke with her, she was Flooing me again. She handed me a phial with a memory in it, and I watched it, and, well, it was just like you said.” He bit his lip. “Malfoy, I’m so—”

“Sorry?”

Closing his eyes, Potter nodded. “Yes.”

“How sorry?”

Potter opened his eyes and frowned. “Um, what?”

Draco smiled. “It’s a simple question, Potter. Just how sorry are you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Pushing off from the counter, Draco sauntered towards Potter until he was standing right next to his chair. “I mean,” he purred, leaning on the table, “What are you prepared to do to show how very _sorry_ you are?”

Blinking up at him, Potter licked his lips. “Whatever it takes. Anything.”

Draco hummed, and reaching out, he cupped Potter’s face, tracing the outline of his lips with his thumb. “You should always be careful when you offer a Slytherin _anything_ , Potter.”

Potter’s throat moved as he swallowed. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I trust you.”

Warmth bloomed in Draco’s chest. “That could be a mistake.” Leaning down, he brushing his mouth over Potter’s. “For all you know I could tie you up and keep you in my bed awaiting my pleasure.”

A whine escaped Potter’s throat. “Dra—Malfoy, please…”

“You can call me Draco.” Pulling back, Draco smiled, pleased to see Potter’s dazed expression. “Or you can scream it, whatever you prefer.” Moving away, Draco sauntered to the door. When he looked back over his shoulder, Potter was still sitting there. He raised an eyebrow. “Well? Are you coming? It’s time to prove just how sorry you are.”

Potter almost knocked over the chair, he moved so fast.

Groping at each other, they stumbled towards Draco’s bedroom, collapsing onto the bed one they got there.

Climbing on top of Potter, Draco curled his arms under Potter’s knees, dragging him and positioning him on the bed. And Potter let him, staring up at him, desire etched on his face.

Tossing aside his sleep shirt, Draco then pushed Potter’s shirt open, baring his chest. Smirking, he thumbed his nipple, reveling in Potter’s moan. Potter’s hands settled on Draco’s hips.

Leaning down, Draco kissed Potter, his hands fumbling with his flies as he panted into his mouth. Potter’s hands, meanwhile, were sliding under the elastic waistband of Draco’s pajama bottoms to knead his arse.

Softening the kiss, Draco made it languorous, sensual, and Potter followed suit, moaning as their tongues slid together. Pressing himself down so he was chest to chest with Potter, Draco smoothed his palm over Potter’s skin, caressing him, listening to every shift in Potter’s breathing pattern, taking his time to explore him.

Once he got the flies undone, Draco pushed Potter’s trousers and pants down, and Potter helped him, shifting up so he could kick them off. 

Draco followed suit, and when he was naked, he settled in the vee of Potter’s legs and moved his mouth down and over Potter’s body as his fingers moved over Potter’s perineum and towards his entrance.

“Lube,” Potter breathed.

“Magic,” Draco replied, and a moment later his slick digit was circling Potter’s hole.

“Thought you were old fashioned?”

Draco scraped his teeth over Potter’s nipple, smirking as Potter shuddered. “Tired tonight,” he murmured as his finger pushed inside Potter. “Someone woke me up, so I didn’t get much sleep.”

“Sorr—”

Shifting up, Draco kissed the word off Potter’s lips, his movement pushing Potter’s leg up over his shoulder, and when he got another finger inside him, Potter arched up. “Do I seem upset?” he whispered against Potter’s mouth.

“No.” Potter started riding Draco’s fingers, his breath escaping in little pants as he did. “You…don’t.”

“Then stop apologising!” Draco twisted his fingers to drive home his point, and from Potter’s needy whine he figured he’d succeeded.

By the time he’d draped Potter’s legs over his shoulders and positioned himself, Potter was shifting restlessly on the bed, his hands fisting the sheets as they clenched and unclenched convulsively.

Draco pressed into Potter, moaning as he slipped past his tight entrance. 

“Fuck,” Potter gasped, his eyes wide, a fine sheen of sweat covering his skin.

“Yes,” Draco agreed, driving deeper as he created a place for himself inside Potter’s body. In and out he moved, varying his strokes until he found that spot that made Potter sob and whimper.

They rocked together, Potter arching up to meet Draco’s every thrust, his cock rubbing against Draco’s stomach as he did so. Burying his face in Potter’s neck, Draco panted as he moved, mouthing Potter’s jaw. He was lost in sensation, pleasure spiraling through his body.

Potter’s hands came up to clench in Draco’s hair, sending sparks of pleasure/pain through him. When he began rotating his hips, however, tightening his inner muscles as he moved, it drove Draco a bit mad.

With a growl, Draco sped up, his thrusts going rough as he drove in as deep as he could. When his orgasm came it was almost a surprise, white-hot pleasure spiking through him as he emptied himself into Potter.

He groaned as Potter shifted, but when Potter tried to reach between them to stroke his own cock, Draco summoned enough strength to slap his hand away.

Potter moaned. “What are you—?”

“ _Incarcerous_ ,” murmured Draco, and Potter was bound, his wrists and ankles tied to the columns of Draco’s four-poster bed.

Still panting, Draco got up on his knees, running a finger lightly over the soft skin of Harry’s inner thigh.

“Fuck, Malfoy!” Potter gasped, straining at the restraints. “What are you doing? I need to come!”

Draco hummed. Potter looked beyond delicious spread-eagle, his body on display, open to Draco’s avid gaze. “It does look like that, yes,” he said, eyeing Potter’s erection.

“Malfoy—”

Leaning down over him, Draco whispered, “Call me Draco.” And before Potter could say another word, Draco shifted, sucking Potter’s… _Harry’s_ cock in his mouth. Flattening his tongue along the underside, Draco slid his mouth down, humming as he went.

“Draco!” Harry shouted, his body trembling, and, after only one or two sucks, he came spurting in Draco’s mouth.

Sliding up Harry’s body, Draco kissed him slowly, deeply. When he drew back to collapse on his back, Harry’s chest was heaving. “Are you going to untie me?” he finally asked.

Draco raised himself up on an elbow, looking down at Harry. “I should just leave you here, let your friends find you like this.” He smirked. “That would be fitting revenge, don’t you think?”

Harry’s smile was fearless. “You could do that,” he agreed. “But you’re better than that.”

“Am I?” Draco murmured.

“I think so.” Harry gazed up at him, expression open, trusting. “No, wait, I _know_ so.”

Exhaling, Draco canceled the spell and, curling close to Harry, closed his eyes, breathing in Harry-scented air. Harry’s arms came around him.

A while later, Potter shifted, trying to slide from underneath Draco.

Draco, almost asleep, woke immediately, his eyes popping open. “What are you doing?”

Harry froze. “Don’t you want me to go? We don’t usually… I mean—”

Draco closed his eyes. “I…you can stay if you like,” he said, tone deliberately light. “It’s up to you.”

Harry went rigid, then relaxed. “I’d like to stay,” he said, settling once more. He hummed, his fingers caressing the small of Draco’s back. “Although you do realise what this means, right?”

“What?”

“You’ll have to stay when you come over to mine, too.” Harry’s arms tightened around Draco. “You’re not allowed to run away anymore. Neither of us are.”

Smiling, Draco closed his eyes. “Fair enough.”

* * *

“You seem nervous.”

Harry looked up to see Draco watching him. He shrugged. “I am a bit, yeah.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Why? I thought the Weasleys were like a family to you.”

“And you never got nervous doing something for your family?”

Draco exhaled. “Point.” He eyed the array of pastries they had prepared for Ginny’s baby shower. “I think we’ve made enough, although we can make more if you think we may run out—”

“The pastries aren’t the problem,” Harry said.

“What is it, then?” Crossing his arms across his chest, Draco leaned against the counter. “It’s me, isn’t it?”

“It’s me, actually.” Harry sighed. “I haven’t visited the Burrow since that article about us came out in _The Quibbler._ ”

Draco snorted. “Who, besides us, even reads _The Quibbler_?”

“The Weasleys do. Molly’s sort of adopted Luna since she and Ginny are best friends, and I think she’s trying to find Xenophilius a girlfriend.”

“As long as she’s not trying to find _you_ a girlfriend, I don’t really care.” Draco narrowed his eyes. “She isn’t, is she?”

Harry laughed. “Um, no. She knows that ship has sailed. She’d be more likely to try to set me up with Charlie these days.”

“The dragon keeper?” Draco huffed. “I suppose if you like the muscular, stocky type—”

Harry smirked. “I think I’ve made it quite clear I like the prissy, perfectionist baker type,” he said.

“Prissy?” Draco raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to sleep alone tonight?”

“I like your prissiness,” Harry murmured, pulling Draco close. “It makes me want to mess you up.”

“Idiot,” Draco muttered, but he was smiling. “Alas, we don’t have time for that. We’re expected there now.”

“I know.” Harry sighed. “I guess I’ll just have to settle for a quick snog—”

“Have you two left yet? Oh, I guess not.” Millicent strode into the kitchen. “And did I interrupt something?”

“Yes,” snapped Draco. “As you can tell, you interfering wench.”

Millicent smirked. “Good thing, too, since you have somewhere to be,” she said unrepentantly. “Now off with you. Unless you want me to cater the Weasley event?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Harry said, hurriedly beginning to shrink pastries and stuff them into boxes. “We’ll handle it.”

“Hm.” Millicent’s smirk deepened. “If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think you don’t want me going, Potter. I’m hurt.”

Harry coughed, recalling the last time Millicent and Hermione had been together. They’d got on surprisingly well; Harry was a bit afraid of how well. He’d been pretty sure he’d caught them whispering together several times that night, all while eyeing him. He didn’t even want to think about what kind of plotting those two could accomplish should they put their minds to it.

“Er, I’ve no idea what you mean. See you later,” he said, taking Draco’s hand and dragging him out of the kitchen.

Draco was still laughing when they landed in the swamp behind the Burrow, although he got serious when it came time to set up for serving.

Molly, who was providing sandwiches and beverages, was welcoming. It seemed Harry’s involvement with Charmed Confections had reclassified it in her mind as a family endeavour, and so she was happy to support them.

Everyone hugged Harry and were polite to Draco, which was more than Harry had expected, and when no one hexed anyone, Harry began to relax.

Molly approached Draco at the end of the party. Harry nervous, hovered nearby just in case. “I really loved your lavender macaroons,” he heard her say.

Draco inclined his head. “Thank you. They were a special favourite of my mother’s.”

“I wonder—” Molly bit her lip. “I won’t ask you for the recipe since it’s a family secret, but how would you feel about making our holiday pastries this Christmas?”

Draco smiled. “You mean cater a Christmas event for you?”

“Oh no, dear.” Molly patted his arm lightly. “I mean join us for Christmas dinner here and bring some pastries with you. I’m sure Harry will be attending, and since the two of you are together, that makes you part of the family, too. Unless you have your own family event you’ll be attending?”

Draco appeared speechless for a moment. “I…No, I don’t, actually.” He swallowed hard, Harry could tell he was moved. “Thank you. I should like that.”

“Good.” Molly nodded. “And it’ll give you a chance to meet everyone.” She chuckled. “We’re a big family.”

Draco looked around. “This isn’t everyone?”

“Oh Merlin, no!” Molly laughed. “These are just the people who could come for the baby shower. We’ll probably have upwards of sixty at Christmas by the time everyone shows up.”

Draco’s eyes went wide. “Sixty people?”

“Enough pastries for eighty should do it,” said Molly. “Some of the lads have healthy appetites. If you can manage it. If not—”

“I can manage it.” Draco smiled. “That should be no problem.”

“Wonderful! Those macaroons would be good, and maybe some fairy cakes and biscuits—” After she’d provided Draco a list of her preferred pastries, Molly hugged him, and Draco, clearly gobsmacked, let her.

When she’d moved on, Harry sidled up to Draco. “Are you all right?”

“I presume you heard that?” At Harry’s nod, Draco sighed. “I’m fine. It’s just…I had assumed I’d be alone at the holidays as usual, so having a large family celebration to attend is…overwhelming.”

“ _Too_ overwhelming?” Harry placed his hand at the small of Draco’s back.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a Malfoy _and_ a Slytherin. I can handle anything this lot can throw at me.” Draco pursed his lips. “Although now I’m going to have to come up with an appropriately fabulous holiday cake. I just hope I can produce something that will blow them away—”

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something brilliant.”

Draco sniffed. “Of course I will.”

Harry grinned. “Come on, master chef. Let’s say goodbye to Ron and Hermione, then we can go.”

“If we must,” Draco muttered.

“Mum says you’re both coming for Christmas dinner,” said Ron as they approached.

“We are.” Harry smiled. “And we’re bringing the pudding.”

“And Molly’s letting you?” Hermione raised an eyebrow. “She’s certainly mellowed.”

“It was even her idea,” said Harry. “I guess she’s decided it’s time to delegate some things so she can enjoy life more.”

“Hm.” Hermione looked thoughtful at that. “Maybe so.”

“So what are you bringing?” Ron asked Draco. “If I can make some suggestions—”

Glancing over at Draco, who was talking to Ron, Hermione leaned close to Harry. “So I take it things are still going well with the two of you? Moving in together hasn’t been a problem?”

“Not at all.” Harry smiled. “Things are brilliant with us.”

Hermione nodded. “Good.” She hugged him. “And baking seems to be your calling. You’ve done this longer than anything else.”

“True.” Harry looked over at Draco. “I guess it’s…inspired me.”

When they Apparated back to Charmed Confections, it was empty, the shop long since having closed. They put away the dishes and did a quick clean up.

“I’ve been thinking about the adult line of pastries you said you were considering,” Harry said as they worked.

“Yes?”

“You should talk to George about it. He’s about to launch a Wheezes adult line. I bet he’d have some brilliant ideas. You could discuss it with him at Christmas.”

Draco blinked, then smiled. “That is a brilliant idea.”

“No need to sound so surprised,” Harry teased. “I have decent ideas on occasion.”

“True.” Lips pursed, Draco sauntered over to him. “I think that counter’s clean.”

Reaching for him, Harry grinned. “Which means it’s time for us to go home and get dirty again.”

“You have a single track mind,” said Draco, although he didn’t object when Harry kissed him.

Things were just beginning to get interesting when Harry heard the sound of a door opening, followed by soft giggles. Before he could pull back, he heard someone say, “Oops! Looks like someone else had the same idea.”

Separating, Harry and Draco both stared at Millicent and Greg, who were standing in the door, holding hands. Millicent’s blouse was half undone, her cheeks bright red, Greg’s expression was a combination of embarrassment and shock.

Draco frowned. “What are you two doing here after hours?”

“I think we could ask the same thing,” said Millicent. She smirked. “Although I think the answer is fairly obvious.”

Draco looked outraged. “Wait, you two fuck in my kitchen? How long has this been going on?”

Millicent bit her lip. “Don’t look so gobsmacked. It seems to me you were about to do the same thing. If we’d been a few minutes later, we’d have got an eyeful.”

Draco flushed. “I’ll have you know we were cleaning up the kitchen!”

“Cleaning? Is that what we’re calling it these days?” deadpanned Millicent.

Harry coughed. “And, since we’re done, we were just leaving,” he said. “See you two tomorrow.” Dragging Draco behind him, he headed for the front door. “You’ll lock up, right?”

“Of course,” Millicent called after them.

“You’d better clean up after yourselves,” Draco tossed over his shoulder. “We make food in there!”

Millicent just laughed.

Hustling him outside, Harry pulled him close. Huffing, Draco nevertheless let him. “I can’t believe them.”

“Well, in their defence, there’s a possibility we were about to do the same thing.”

Draco glared at him. “Whose side are you on?”

Harry sighed. Leaning in, he kissed Draco, softly, gently, smiling when Draco sagged against him, kissing him back. “I’m on our side,” he said, drawing back and resting his forehead against Draco’s. “Always. Now, let’s go. We’ll be back here soon enough, after all.”

Draco glanced up at the Charmed Confections sign. He sighed. “I suppose you’re right.” He clasped Harry’s hand. “Time to go home.”

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You can show your appreciation for the author in a comment here or on [Livejournal](http://hd-erised.livejournal.com/71880.html) . ♥
> 
> This story is part of an on-going anonymous fest hosted at hd_erised @ livejournal.com. The author will be revealed January 9th.


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